


Emails and Errands

by brionypoisoned



Series: A Wholesome Archival Office AU [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Canon-typical sad Martin, Comedy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Minor Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Workplace Relationship, jealous!martin, just a whiff of love triangle but its entirely imaginary don't worry, protective!Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brionypoisoned/pseuds/brionypoisoned
Summary: Martin leaves the Magnus Institute to work as an administrative assistant for Peter Lukas.Jon hires some new archival assistants.Minor chaos ensues.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: A Wholesome Archival Office AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738744
Comments: 47
Kudos: 148





	1. Jaffa Cakes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of my "A Wholesome Archival Office AU" series, which means that there's gonna be a lot of softness. With the exception of some very minor angst, the stakes are pretty darn low. 
> 
> You don't have to read the previous fics to understand this one, just know there's no magic, there's no entities, and Jon and Martin are already dating. Read Card Catalogs & Finding Aids to figure out how that came to be, if you're interested.
> 
> Rated T for language.

Jon woke from a nightmare in a pitch dark room with a panicked gasp. Something had been chasing him... or, possibly, watching him? Or maybe he had been watching it? The details of what had frightened him so thoroughly in the dream were slipping away from him, but the fear stuck around. He didn't want to turn his head to look at the clock, some lingering panic hinting that doing so would expose him to danger. His back remained rigid and he kept perfectly still, muscles clenched. Whatever creeping dread threatened him in his nightmare demanded his utmost vigilance. 

"Mmmph. Jon?" A gentle, sweet voice asked from the other side of the bed. The plasticky creak of the mattress indicated that Martin had rolled over to face him.

"Hmm?" Jon couldn't bring himself to speak yet, still frozen in fear of something which felt real but that he could not remember. Chills ran down his arms and spine.

"You alright?" Martin asked, yawning. "Nightmare?"

"I... yes." Jon answered, realizing that it must have been. It was a just a dream. There was no need to remain vigilant. Whatever threat had frightened him so effectively had disappeared along with his memory of it. He still couldn't quite un-hunch his shoulders, but his breath came to him more evenly. "Yes, Martin, just a nightmare."

Martin nuzzled his face into Jon's shoulder, wrapping his large, soft arm around Jon's waist and pulling him in to a hug. Jon finally relaxed into Martin's warmth, the tension from his back releasing with a shiver. He melted into his boyfriend.

"What happened in it? Would it help to talk?" Martin asked, so close now that the vibrations of his voice rumbled into Jon's shoulder.

"No I-I don't think... it was nothing. It would probably sound silly if I said it out loud now, if I could even remember." Jon murmured, finally comfortable enough to move his head without fear of some kind of attack. He let Martin be the big spoon, and curled into his partner's embrace. Martin played with some of Jon's hair around his ear and kissed the back of Jon's head with tenderness.

"I love you, Jon." Martin hummed, already half asleep again.

"I... I love you too, Martin." Jon answered, feeling safer than he had in years.

~*~

Jon had just managed to sink back into something resembling a deep sleep when the cascading synths of his alarm woke him back up again. It was 5:30 am; Martin's alarm wasn't set for a while, yet. Jon liked to be at his desk by 8:00, while Martin didn't need to be arrive until about 9:30. Their different schedules spared them the embarrassment of always showing up at the same time on the evenings they spent at one another's flats. Maybe embarrassment was the wrong word—everyone already knew they were together—they just didn't want their coworkers to know every detail of their lives. Fuck, Elias probably kept a spreadsheet of it somewhere, the weirdo.

They both adjusted their hours somewhat and took different trains into the city. It worked out just fine, they spent most of their off time together already, and, working in the same office, it wasn't too much of a hardship to give up a shared commute.

Jon tip-toed blindly into the bathroom in the pitch dark before closing the door and unavoidably startling himself when he flipped on the fluorescent light. In the early days of their relationship, he had used to turn the bedside light on as soon as he woke up, but he noticed that on the mornings when Martin woke up before him Martin was always careful to keep the lights off so that Jon could continue to sleep. Since then Jon had done his best to return the favor, although it was always a bit of a pain to have to stumble around in the dark first thing in the morning.

He turned to the mirror with a sigh, taking in the familiar sight of his bedraggled, morning self. He always, no matter how deeply he had slept, woke up looking as though he hadn't slept at all. He turned his attention to the sink. The bathroom countertop was a bit cluttered—Martin's things kept bleeding over onto Jon's side—which was a small irritation. He remembered with a sigh that he'd left his favorite hair product at Martin's flat so he was going to have to make do without it. He ran his hands through the thick, prematurely graying hair that his grandmother used to fight every morning to tame into something presentable. Time to get ready for work.

Martin woke up at about the time that Jon left for the tube. He sighed and cuddled into Jon's mattress for a few minutes past his alarm, reluctant to leave his cozy sanctuary. Jon's mattress was just slightly softer than his own, and some mornings he regretted ever having to leave it. 

By a gargantuan force of will he managed to emerge from under the covers. As he made the bed and began to gather his things he realized with some horror that he had forgotten his undershirt again. He was either going to have to wear a dirty one or go without, because there was no way he could squeeze into one of Jon's. He groaned in irritation. There wasn't time to go back to his apartment before he had to be at work. He decided on just wearing his button down, even though the fabric wasn't particularly comfortable. 

The thought bubbled up, as it had a few times before, _This wouldn't be an issue if I just lived here._

He shook his head, scolding himself. It was too soon. He couldn't bring it up, it would make him look too needy. Besides, one of them would have to quit their jobs, because Jon couldn't live with an employee he directly supervised. That was apparently the one rule on the books at the Magnus Institute when it came to intra-departmental dating. 

He put his outfit together, the fabric of his shirt scratching his skin without its cotton barrier, and tried his best not to be disappointed.

~*~

Sasha rapped on Jon's office door with surprising force at precisely 9am. He was expecting her, she had with admirable politeness requested this meeting via email a few days ago. 

Jon called for her to come in.

She entered the room with Tim, who had not been included in her email request, in tow.

"Hello Jon." Sasha said, not making any attempt to explain Tim's presence. She pulled up another chair and the two of them gingerly settled opposite Jon's desk. Usually when Sasha met with Jon she brought along a cute little notebook so she could jot down her thoughts. She'd told him once it helped her pay better attention. It struck Jon as odd that her hands were now empty. 

The fact that she'd scheduled a meeting at all was out of the ordinary. Generally Sasha would stroll into Jon's office unscheduled and their chats would meander between work and nonsense for ten to thirty minutes, depending on the mood.

Today Sasha and Tim sat across from Jon silently and with perfect posture. They looked like underemployed millennials applying for a mortgage. Jon realized with discomfort that they were looking at him the way they looked at Elias during one of his staff meetings.

"Hullo Sasha. Tim." Jon said, adjusting his glasses in a way that he hoped came across as more professional than awkward. "Whats, erm, what's up?" 

Sasha took a deep breath before all of her words tumbled out in a rush.

"I've accepted a position as a digital archivist at the Lloyd's Register Foundation." Sasha said, meeting Jon's gaze.

Jon blinked.

"You've... accepted..." He began to repeat.

"It's a brilliant job, she'd be a fool not to take it." Tim assured him, just as serious as Sasha.

"I start at the beginning of next month." Sasha said.

Jon nodded, trying to keep his expression cool and regular. There was a way bosses were supposed to respond to this, surely? He needed to stay professional. But at the same time, this was SASHA! His friend! Sasha! The best damn researcher in the department! He couldn't imagine the archives without her.

"Good lord." He said.

"Oh Jon, I'm SO sorry!" Sasha said, all at once her professional demeanor crumbling to pieces.

"No! Sasha! Don't lose your nerve!" Tim scolded. "You have nothing to be sorry about! Don't let him get to you!"

"Don't let ME..." Jon began, but Sasha cut him off.

"I should have told you I was looking for other jobs!" Sasha said, wringing her hands. "But it wasn't really anything serious... I mean... until I saw this one and then the interview just went SO WELL and they're offering me SO much more money..."

"You don't need to say any of this Sasha! Christ!" Tim protested.

"I just couldn't bring myself to tell you! And I didn't want to say it in an email..."

"You could have! It would have been fine!" Tim added.

"Anyway." Sasha took a deep, shaky breath to recover herself. "This job has been a great opportunity, and I have absolutely learned a lot here, and I really enjoy working with you all! But I can't turn this one down." Sasha said. Her tone grew stronger as she went, as though she were successfully convincing herself. 

Jon couldn't help but feel a bit proud of Sasha. She absolutely deserved this, as much as he was going to miss her. He glanced over at Tim, still, inexplicably, also here.

"Tim, are you leaving as well?" Jon asked, confused.

"No." Sasha answered, letting out a little nervous laugh. "I asked him to come along for backup."

"Backup?" Jon repeated.

"I'm her emotional support coworker for this meeting." Tim said. "Don't worry, Jon, you're stuck with me for bit longer."

"I..." Jon almost asked what exactly Sasha expected him to do that would require an emotional support backup Tim, but he decided to let it slide. He took a deep breath and tried to think of what Martin would say in this situation. "I'm very happy for you, of course, Sasha." He tried. "This sounds like a great opportunity and they are lucky to have you. Too lucky, maybe, I may try to poach you back."

Sasha laughed.

"There's no way Elias will let you match the salary they're giving me." She said. "Trust me." 

"Besides, she's got more opportunities for advancement over there." Tim said. "It's a great job." 

"Which archive is it again?" Jon asked.

"Lloyd's Register Foundation, I'll be digitizing historic ship registers and making data visualizations."

"It's exactly the nerdy shit she's so good at." Tim said, tone somewhat adoring.

"Thank you, Tim, that's quite enough." Sasha said, but she couldn't hide the pride in her voice.

"We will miss you, here." Jon admitted. "And not only because Tim is a nightmare to manage without you." 

Sasha laughed again and Tim just shrugged. 

"Anyway." Jon couldn't think of anything else that Martin would say. It was clear he needed to do something to end the interaction, however, and so, in desperation, he held out a hand for a handshake. 

As soon as he did it he could tell it wasn't the right thing to do, but once the hand was out there it was too late for everyone. Sasha sort of awkwardly grasped it from across the table and gave it a quick shake. "I'll, um, let Elias know and see what we can do about the paperwork." Jon hurriedly finished.

"Sounds good." Sasha took a deep breath, looking somewhat relieved. "Thank you, Jon." 

"Thank you!" Jon responded, as Sasha and Tim made their exit from his office. When Jon shut the door behind them he slowly leant forward until his forehead knocked the doorframe with a gentle thud. He let out a deep sigh. His best researcher was going, and now he was going to have to _hire someone_. And _interview people._ He wasn't sure which was worse.

~*~

That night after dinner Jon noticed that Martin tidied up the dishes with less conversation than usual. They were at Jon's again, Martin had stopped at his place for a change of clothes on the way home but had forgotten for the third time to pick up Jon's favorite hair product. At this point Jon had resigned himself to having permanently puffy, unruly, hair. 

Martin brightened up somewhat when the two of them settled onto the couch to watch something on Netflix. Jon, Martin had discovered, was a menace of a snuggler. No sooner would Martin settle onto the couch than Jon would find some way to nestle against him, sometimes with his legs draped over Martin's lap, sometimes with his head tucked comfortably against Martin's soft, rounded shoulder. Tonight Jon wrapped his arm behind Martin's back and pressed into him affectionately.

"I'll certainly miss Sasha at the office." Jon said, correctly guessing what had been on Martin's mind. 

"I can't believe she didn't tell me she found a new job!" Martin finally whined. He'd been perfectly cordial and congratulatory about it at the office but now, safe at home with Jon, he could finally vent. "Or even that she was looking! She must really think I'm your spy or something."

"Well, to be fair, you would almost certainly have told me." Jon said.

"That's what you think!" Martin scoffed.

Jon tilted his head up to look at Martin at a different angle.

"What? Are you keeping secrets from me, Martin Blackwood?"

Martin smiled and kissed the top of Jon's head.

"Nothing important, but yes, of course I am. You don't know _everything_ about me, Jon."

"Interesting! I'll remember that!" Jon smiled, and snuggled back in to Martin's shoulder like a cat curling up into a ball. "Ugh, and now I'm going to have to work with _Elias_ on INTERVIEWS." He groused.

"Oh it's not so bad! You've done enough oral histories now! You can ask strangers a few questions!" Martin tried to comfort him.

"No its completely different." Jon answered, grim. "Job interviews are like... traps, where you're judging someone for how they respond to these ridiculous little puzzles that have almost nothing to do with how they'll actually do in the position. The only thing a job interview tells you is how well a person can come up with a lie on the spot."

"What about hiring someone from inside the institute? From the library, maybe?" Martin asked.

"We'll see, it depends on if anyone applies."

Martin stayed silent for a few minutes, running his hand up and down Jon's side in a strange, repetitive fashion. Jon sat there in silence, allowing himself to relax even more snugly into Martin's arms. 

"Jon... what if... what if I switched departments?" Martin asked.

"What?" Jon tensed.

Martin shifted to look at his partner directly. "Look, I mean, obviously no pressure or anything, but I have to decide whether or not I’m going to renew my lease in a few weeks... and... well... I'm here all the time anyway..."

"Oh. OH!" The pieces began to click together in Jon's head. His first, irrational thought had been that Sasha and Martin were both abandoning him for being such a terrible boss. Because, obviously, everything in the world revolved around him.

"If you're not ready, I totally understand, it's a big step!" Martin backtracked, "It's just..." He looked pained for a moment, "if-if you're up for it, I think I'd like to move in with you."

Jon's mouth opened and closed a few times without managing to form a word of response. The thought of Martin moving in with him had honestly never even crossed his mind. Which was ridiculous, Martin was here nearly every night, of course it made sense for him to move in. Jon mentally scolded himself for once again failing to even contemplate a very normal relationship milestone. If his grandmother could see him she would be rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"Martin!" Jon managed to say, tone coming out much harsher than he intended. Martin cringed. "No! I..." Deciding that words alone were insufficient, Jon soothed Martin's worries by clambering into his lap and planting a fond kiss on his cheek. "Of COURSE I'd love for you to move in with me!" He answered, almost giddy. "But..." He paused, "but its not fair that you should have to quit!" 

"I don't mind!" Martin said, laughing like he couldn't believe his luck and stroking Jon's face. "You've got the better position, it makes perfect sense for me to transfer. Besides, you'll be doing the interviews anyway, you might as well hire for two positions instead of one!" 

"Do you... do you think your CV might, erm..." Jon asked, keeping his tone diplomatic.

"I was wondering about that, but I don't think it should be a problem. Not if I'm just transferring departments. Elias knows me well enough now that they shouldn't look at it too hard."

"I'll miss you on our Oral History trips." Jon admitted, playing with Martin's hair.

"I know, I'll miss them, too. But you really have gotten better at the interviews, Jon, and... I'd rather move in with you than do oral histories? I think?" Martin said.

"Oh my god, of course." Jon laughed. "Good lord, Martin. Are we moving in together?" 

Martin's face split into a wide, lovely smile.

"I think we are!" He answered with a giggle. 

Jon pulled Martin to him and covered his blushing face with dozens of small, celebratory kisses. 

“I-I feel like we ought to have champagne or something." Jon said.

Martin let out a little gasp.

"Jon! I've got some Jaffa Cakes! I picked them up at Tesco on my way home, they're in the cupboard!" 

"Ha! Perfect!" Jon said with a little cackle. He wriggled out of Martin's arms and went to retrieve the snack.


	2. Rum Raisin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Just to let you know I plan to update this fic every Wednesday. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!

Elias had a way of looking at Martin more like he was a favored pet hamster than an employee. It was an affectionate and patronizing experience, and there was nothing Martin could do to defend himself against it. He'd go in to each meeting with as much mental fortitude as he could muster, telling himself that everything was fine, he was going to be perfectly professional and normal, and he had nothing to be ashamed of or frightened about. Even so, every time he left an Elias meeting he had to sit in a bathroom stall for 10 minutes just to get his heart rate back to normal. 

But there Martin sat, hands already clammy, staring out of Elias's office window while Elias finished typing up an email.

"Right! Martin!" Elias announced, clapping his hands and finally giving Martin his full attention. "Terribly sorry for that, just had a few loose ends to tie up. You said you wanted to meet with me? DO tell me it hasn't anything to do with Jon." Elias said with a smirk.

"Ah." Martin's smile flickered. "Erm..."

"Oh!" Elias looked, for a moment, horrified. "Does it have to do with Jon?" 

"Sort of, not really." 

"Oh thank christ." Elias laughed. "Because if he snapped and went all quid pro quo on you you could sue us straight to hell." 

"It's..." Martin laughed nervously. "No, erm, _actually,_ I was here to ask if you could think of any job openings in a different department. Like... the library? Possibly?" 

Elias's head tilted like he was a crow that just caught sight of an unattended fork. 

"You're interested in transferring departments? Not happy in the archives?"

"Oh no I'm very happy in the archives, Jon hasn't.... everything's normal! I just... I was thinking of a change." 

Elias smirked and pressed his fingertips together. 

"You're moving in with him, aren't you?" He asked, barely keeping the delight out of his voice.

"I mean..." Martin absolutely didn't want to tell Elias his and Jon's living arrangements. They were none of his business. Unfortunately he could see no way out of it, so he deflated somewhat as he answered, "Yeah." 

"Well, Martin." Elias turned to his computer and began to type. "Let's see what we can do for you two lovebirds, eh?"

Martin wanted to sink into a hole in the floor, but he simply nodded. 

Elias squinted at his computer screen without saying anything for just long enough to be uncomfortable. He kept making little disappointed noises, and then scrolling and typing away.

"I... if there's nothing available right now..." Martin tentatively said, but Elias cut him off.

"There are a few part time shelving positions open, but that won't do at all. Not for someone with... your qualifications..." Elias muttered, not turning his eyes from the screen. He placed an odd emphasis on the last two words.  
Martin focused very hard on not turning pink, which of course only made him pinker. His palms had progressed beyond clamminess at this point, he was sure if he wiped them on his trousers they would leave a damp mark.

Elias stopped typing with a strange abruptness, inducing Martin to glance up. 

"Hmmm." Elias turned to Martin with an appraising look.

"Y-yes?" Martin asked.

"How dedicated are you to remaining at the Magnus Institute?" Elias asked.

"I mean, I-I'd prefer to... stay?" Martin answered without a shred of confidence. "But if it's not possible then Jon and I can work something out."

"I have a... a proposition, I suppose. A friend, erm, an aquaint-, no, ah," For once it was Elias who seemed to struggle to find the right words. "I have been made aware of an administrative assistant position at Solus Shipping PLC. You would be working for a man named Peter Lukas. I have known him for some time. He asked me a few weeks ago if I knew of any likely young people I could send his way."

"Solus shipping?" Martin asked. 

"You would be doing administrative work, you needn't worry about going out to sea." Elias said. "I would be... I would be happy to give you a strong recommendation."

"I... I don't... would it be comparable in pay?" Martin asked.

Elias let out a little laugh.

"Oh I expect the pay would be a great deal higher than what you make here. You might even earn more than Jon." 

"Oh! Oh really?" Martin tried to keep his voice from wavering but as always it was a losing fight. "Erm, I suppose I'd have to think about it." 

"I suppose you would." The patronizing tone bled back into Elias's voice. 

"Can I... I'll send you an email tomorrow, yeah?"

"Certainly." Elias nodded. "I'll wait."

"I... ok." 

Martin essentially fled from Elias's office, trying to wrap his mind around the offer. A new position. As an administrative assistant. He'd done similar work before, shortly after uni he'd snagged a job as a project assistant for what he was soon to discover was a very doomed and probably illegal startup. He'd liked the work though. It was less stressful than his job delivering pizzas and more interesting than his work cleaning at the local nursing home. He'd been crushed the day he showed up to the office to find everything boarded up and closed with no notice. 

Elias had been cagey about the nature of his relationship with this Lukas, but that wasn't exactly out of character. 

Unbidden imaginary futures began to dance in Martin's imagination. What if he made, oh, 10k more than he currently made? That would make payments on his mother's care home SO much easier! Besides he and Jon would already be splitting rent, they could afford trips! He could buy Jon that nice coffee-maker he wanted so badly! They could get (he couldn't even let himself think it...) a DOG.

"Martin? You all right?" Tim asked, startling Martin out of his imaginary future park date with Jon and their hypothetical dog. He hadn't even registered that he'd made it back to the office.

"Sure, yeah. I think so." Martin answered, settling back in at his desk, forcing himself to return to the present. He spent the rest of the day googling Solus Shipping, next to a pile of unprocessed collections items. 

~*~

Martin ended up interviewing with Peter Lukas over the phone. Just from his voice Lukas seemed reserved, soft spoken, and very polite. Martin couldn't quite get a read on him from the interview, but of course he was more focused on selling himself as a valuable, nay, essential, employee.

The only question which stuck out to Martin came about halfway through. After Martin explained a bit about his duties on Jon's grant-funded oral history project (downplaying the supernatural element as much as possible,) Lukas had paused. He then asked, in an infuriatingly hard to read tone,

"Oh, so you're VERY early career, aren't you?" 

Martin stuttered a bit at that. He had felt rather proud of rising through the ranks from archival assistant to researcher on an oral history project, but Lukas's question filled him with a sudden doubt. He ought to be further in life at this point, shouldn't he? A man in his late twenties shouldn't still be described as "early career"? 

After the interview, when Jon asked him how it went, Martin honestly had no idea. He had said what he wanted to say, made his case, as well as he could, but for all he knew he'd blown the whole thing abysmally. He kept going over his answers in his head, picking over every stumble, every possible mistake.

He went to bed that night absolutely positive he'd missed his chance. He didn't bother telling Jon about it, it was too embarrassing, but it was probably the worst he'd slept with Jon at his side. 

The next day Peter Lukas sent Martin a brief email telling him the job was his if he wanted it. 

~*~

There had been some dispute over what to do for Sasha and Martin's combined farewell party. First it was going to be two parties, but neither of them really wanted to be the center of attention for that long so they happily agreed to share. Tim wanted to have the kind of blow out where you rent an event space and have an open bar (even a DJ!) but Sasha and Martin vetoed that option as being ridiculous. 

In the end the archival team plus Elias (who seemed strangely intent on cake,) went out for ice cream. 

A birthday gathering made up of tired looking mums and shrieking six-year-olds took up the other side of the ice-cream parlor from the coworkers. A few of the more rambunctious members of that party intermittently sped past their table at closer and closer proximity. 

"Well, you got what you wanted, MARTIN, are you happy?" Tim asked, over the sound of sugar-fueled roughhousing and merriment.

"I'm enjoying myself very much, thank you for asking." Martin said, handing Tim a paper party hat with utmost solemnity. 

Tim put the hat on without comment. It was red and decorated with little metallic balloon shapes. 

"They haven't got a party horn, have they?" Elias asked, stretching to look.

"I don't think so." Jon said, staring at his own silly party hat and letting out a deep sigh. He was going to put it on of course, at this point it was a foregone conclusion.

"HERE we go!" Sasha said with a little clap, spotting something behind the counter which none of the others had noticed.

Two shop employees, careful to lift with their knees and not their backs, lugged an absolute monstrosity of an ice cream sundae over to the archival table. It was so large the smaller of the teenage server's arms actually shook from the effort of holding it up. It had to be twenty scoops, all covered in fudge and caramel and strawberry sauce and whipped cream and sprinkles. 

"Good GOD, Sasha!" Tim said, and let out a low whistle.

"I've wanted to order this my WHOLE LIFE!" Sasha said, absolutely beaming. "Do forgive me but I went ahead and canceled all of your orders so we could eat this. I wanted it to be a surprise!" 

"But..." Jon protested.

"Don't worry I got your scoop of rum raisin on there!" Sasha said, picking up a laughably long pink plastic ice cream spoon. "Hurry up and eat it before it infects the good ice cream."

"Rum raisin IS good ice cream." Jon mumbled, trying to search out his scoop amongst the massive pile. 

Some member of the party of six-year-olds had spotted the massive sundae, and the shrieking began to diminish. The youth, in a poor imitation of stealth, eyed the archivists with thinly veiled jealousy.

Martin began to giggle at the scene they made, in particular at Jon, in his little party hat, trying desperately to find his scoop of rum raisin before it melted.

"This was a perfect idea, Sasha." Martin said, when he could pull himself out of the giggle fit long enough to form words.

"Yeah, fine, this is pretty cool." Tim said just tucking into a huge pile of whipped cream. 

Elias stood up, taking one of the long stemmed cherries from the top the sundae and staring expectantly at everyone else at the table. Following his lead, they each took one of the candied fruits.

"To the newest digital humanist at the Lloyd's Register Foundation! And the new executive assistant at Solus Shipping!" Elias announced, holding up his cherry in a toast. "May you both succeed in your new endeavors. We shall miss you terribly." 

"Here, here!" Jon and Tim agreed, and they all ate their cherries at the same time.

"Which will you miss more, Sasha, your work in artifact storage or your work in the archives?" Jon asked.

"Oh the archives, certainly." Sasha said. "Although, there was one time, in artifact storage, Tim, do you remember? When I was trying to figure out what that big leather thing with all the zippers was, and I ended up zipping myself into a pair of WWII airmen's trousers?"

"And immediately got stuck? Yes, I remember." Tim laughed. "You had to waddle around in those things for an hour!"

"It was awful, I felt like a terrible historic preservationist."

"Mm... I'm fairly certain you aren't supposed to WEAR the haunted trousers, Sasha." Elias pointed out. 

"I managed to put that together Elias, yes, thank you." Sasha answered.

"Your turn Martin, give us a reminiscence." Tim asked. He kept reaching his arm out as though to put it around Sasha's shoulders and then retracting it when she gave him a glare. 

"Oh I don't know. I got yelled at a lot when I was first hired." Martin answered with a shrug.

"Got yelled at, yeah... and who did all that yelling?" Sasha asked, feigning ignorance. 

"Oh stuff it." Jon muttered, halfway through his rum raisin at this point and not up for any nonsense.

"I deserved it mostly." Martin said. "One time, oh my god, one time Jon scolded me because my desk was messy, so I spent a whole morning cleaning it out..."

"I remember this!" Tim groaned, holding his face in his hands. 

"But a piece of paper slipped behind my chair, and I didn't see it, so when Jon went to go fetch something from the printer..." 

"Oh NO!" Sasha groaned, remembering as well.

"Jon slipped and fell and nearly cracked his head open on the floor." Martin finished, tone reaching cartoonish levels of high pitch near the end.

"That doesn't sound like something that was your fault, Martin." Elias said. 

"You dropped that paper cleaning your desk?" Jon asked, stunned, "Because of something I said?" 

"I felt so horrible! I kept telling you to go to the hospital but you wouldn't. I thought you were going to die of a concussion. I was literally rehearsing what I was going to say to the police when they came in to ask about it." 

"It was only a bump, I was more upset with you for... Christ, sorry Martin." Jon admitted. "I shouldn't have been upset with you at all, in hindsight."

"It was my fault!"

"I could have looked where I was walking." Jon said.

"And now look at you! The happy couple." Elias interrupted. "I feel as though I played some part in getting you two together." 

"Some very... very very small part." Tim said, skeptical. 

"You'll be helping us with the interviews of course, Tim? For the new hires?" Elias sort of ask/demanded. "You'll be working closely with two new people, you'll probably want some role in th decision making process."

"I don't even want to think about it, honestly." Tim admitted. "Two new people. What if the vibe's all wrong?" 

"Well, you can tell us what you think about their 'vibe,' after the interviews, I suppose." Jon said.

"I've got a few set up for Thursday." Elias said. "Promising group, we'll see how it goes." 

The five of them hadn't even made it halfway through the sundae, but they were all slowing down.

"I feel like you might be supposed to order this for a larger group." Martin suggested.

"A larger... younger group." Elias added.

"I have no regrets!" Sasha proclaimed.

"Was it as good as you imagined it would be?" Jon asked, with a smile.

"If anything? Better!" Sasha grinned. "But I do have an idea."

A few minutes later Sasha returned empty handed, having left the half enjoyed mega sundae at the children's party, with the mum's reluctant permission. A bunch of six-year-olds were all buzzing around her and complimenting her on her bright pink cardigan like she was some kind of goddess. Sasha drank it in. As far as office farewell parties went, this one felt like a massive success.

~*~

Martin always got nervous before starting a new job. His first day at the Magnus Archives he'd nearly been hit by a car crossing the street because he'd been too in his own head to look at the light. Then of course there had been the dog incident, which did not bear thinking about.

As a way of calming his nerves about his first day of work as Peter Lukas's executive assistant, Martin decided to practice his commute. Figuring out how to get to a new building, checking how long the train would take, knowing what everything would look like in advance, it all helped to soothe what could be described as his unruly nerves. 

He blushed to even tell his plan to Jon—surely a grown man shouldn't need a trial run of going to work—but Jon did't bat an eye and just asked if he could come along. So the two of them sat together on the train, each listening to their own podcasts and holding hands from time to time, until they finally made their way to the Solus Shipping offices. It ended up being a 45 minute commute on the tube, not ideal, but manageable.

The building was in a less expensive part of the city than the Magnus Institute, and an area which Martin was less familiar with. As much as Martin resented the bougie nature of Chelsea, he found he missed some of its overpriced shops as he examined the rather grim looking office district streets of his new workplace.

"So that's it, eh?" Jon asked, craning to look at the office complex. It was one of those buildings that was probably quite impressive in the 1980s but had grown somewhat shabby over the years. Compared to the neoclassical grandeur of the Magnus Institute, it was certainly a more dismal aesthetic. 

"Solus Shipping is on the 7th floor. I'll be able to figure that bit out on my own tomorrow." Martin said. "Thanks again for coming with me." He squeezed Jon's hand in gratitude. 

"Of course! Anyway, now that you're the _breadwinner_ of this relationship..."

"You PROMISED not to be weird about that!" Martin warned. His new salary was just slightly higher than Jon's, which meant that he could now look at the bills for his mother's care home without spiraling into a panic.

"I'm not being weird! I'm delighted for you. And it's honestly brilliant to not have to explain to people that I'm your boss anymore."

"It was always fine!" Martin protested with a sigh. "Hey, while we're out, fancy a sandwich somewhere? We can make a date of it."

"Fine, but you're paying for it."

"JON." Martin groaned, but he couldn't hide a pleased blush.


	3. Bully Jon Sims Hours

The interviews for the two new Archival Assistant positions could have gone worse. Someone could have died during the interview, or the archive could have caught fire. So yes, without question, the interviews could have gone worse.

Jared Hopworth's stood out as a particular low point. For one thing, Tim stared at Hopworth like he was a hunk of meat for the entire interview, no matter how many times Jon elbowed him. Perhaps in response, Hopworth somehow managed to make no fewer than five homophobic comments in less than twenty minutes. At least, Jon _assumed_ the comments were homophobic, that's what Elias said later, anyway, Jon couldn't understand a goddamn thing the giant of a man actually said. Hopworth appeared to be as averse to enunciation as he was to the lgbt community. Elias booted him out with only a thin veneer of decorum.

"Not a good fit." Elias grumbled the instant the elevator doors closed in front of Hopworth's face.

"His biceps were as big as my HEAD!" Tim muttered, still somewhat dazed.

"Get a hold of yourself." Jon muttered.

Nikola Orsinov, at the very least, spoke in a comprehensible fashion. She looked like an extra from a My Chemical Romance music video, which in and of itself was not disqualifying for a position at a research archive, but her inability to keep even a tiny bit of her own story straight, was. Nothing she said matched anything on her CV, and her statements at the beginning of the interview where she talked about her experience as a library shelver she later denied ever having happened. She then told several stories about working at a circus, which then turned into an anecdote about working at a department store, and she spent the last ten minutes of the interview absolutely shredding Jon for how dry his skin was. Jon tried not to let it get to him, but he made a mental note to ask Martin what brand moisturizer he used later.

They interviewed one woman who was more of a developer than a librarian, who kept referencing dank memes that none of them had heard of. There was a person who's previous job had been as an anthropological tour guide in South America, and who didn't know the definition of "metadata." Several young men appeared to have NO experience and were simply trying to find a job to avoid moving back in with their parents. No one was a good fit, and no one seemed to be remotely qualified.

After a long week of interviews, Jon was almost too tired and discouraged to pay attention to the resumes. Until he saw a name he recognized. 

"Oh Christ," he muttered, just as the door to the office creaked open.

"Miss Melanie King, is it?" Elias greeted the wiry young woman who stepped into the room. 

Melanie had clearly put forth an effort in her outfit, she was in nice dress trousers, a button up blouse, and an elegant gray blazer with sleeves cut just past her elbows. 

"Is that... Georgie's blazer?" Jon asked, before really thinking about the implications of the question.

Melanie set her jaw. 

"Yes. I borrowed it." She answered in a clipped tone. "I TOLD Georgie you'd notice." She looked exasperated. "I'm still qualified for this job, you know, just because I'm dating your ex-girlfriend doesn't mean I can't do this job."

"Excuse me?" Tim asked, perking up with curiosity. "Whose ex-girlfriend?"

Elias let out a sigh.

"Jon, is your love life once again interfering with our workplace?" 

"I... no! I didn't... I mean... of course you're still qualified." Jon sputtered. "I wouldn't NOT hire you for something like... I mean, I'm not JEALOUS... I..."

"I've forgotten more about the supernatural than most people learn their whole lives." Melanie said, voice frank. "I've had to research locations and backstories for my channel for years. I'm good at working with people, and I've got solid organizational skills. I would be an excellent archival assistant." Melanie said, with a sort of passionate confidence that Jon DID envy.

"I love your Youtube channel." Tim said. 

"Thank you." Melanie responded. "Now. Questions?"

Melanie came across as as professional and competent, if not particularly friendly. Jon, a fellow competent and yet unfriendly employee, could find no fault with any of her answers. Elias grinned in triumph as she left the office.

"I think we've found one!" He said to Jon and Tim. "And Jon, if you're upset about her dating your ex..."

"I never was! I just recognized the blazer! That's all!" Jon groaned.

“Good. I was going to tell you to get over it.” 

"I think she's perfect." Tim said. "So that's one position covered."

"If she accepts it." Jon said.

"I think she will." Elias answered. 

~*~

That night Jon rambled to Martin about the whole debacle while brushing his teeth, presuming that Martin was listening from the bedroom.

“ _Obviously_ I’m not upset that Melanie and Georgie are dating. Georgie can date whoever she wants! We haven’t been together in over a decade! I can’t believe they’d think I’m so _awful_ as to hold that against Melanie in a professional capacity!”

Martin made a sort of noncommittal hum in response from the other room. It was not at all clear whether he’d actually understood anything Jon had said, through the wall and through Jon brushing his teeth through half of it. Jon didn’t allow that to deter him. 

“Mind you,” he continued, “It was odd to see Georgie’s lucky blazer on a Youtube personality. Surely it wouldn’t have been too much to ask for Georgie to give me some warning? Would it?’ Jon stared at his own reflection in the mirror, seriously considering. “Would it? Or am I horrible?” He asked, too soft at all for Martin to hear.

He finally peeked out of the bathroom door to check on Martin, his trusted gauge of whether something was horrible or not, who was lying in bed, staring at his phone with a furrowed brow and typing at a furious pace.

“You’re not fighting on Twitter again, are you? You know the Tories won’t let you sleep.” Jon said, voice more gentle than he had been with himself. 

Martin let out a little chuckle at that and finally looked up.

“What? No, sorry Jon, its just… Peter’s been messaging me non stop since 8pm about some report and I’m just trying to sort it out…”

“Tell him to fuck off, it’s late.” Jon said, demonstrating a healthy attitude towards work/life balance which did not remotely reflect his own lifestyle. He moved over to the bed and planted an affectionate kiss on the side of Martin’s head. Martin blushed, which was the precise response Jon was going for. Pleased in his success, Jon followed up with another kiss on the cheek and Martin giggled as he squirmed away.

“Oh come off it!” Martin protested. “Fine! Fine, I’ll text him that I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” Martin finally shut his phone screen off and set it aside and Jon crawled under the covers next to him, settling into his favorite position snuggled up against Martin’s side. 

“I miss you, at work.” Jon said.

Martin scoffed.

“It hasn’t even been a week!” He said.

“It’s been a hell of a week.” Jon said, closing his eyes and settling in. “Things still all right in the new job?”

“It’s... fine.” Martin said. “Busy, but I think I’m getting the hang of it. Peter seems… supportive I guess.” 

“Lot of spreadsheets?”

“So many bloody spreadsheets.” Martin sighed. “Anyway. Nothing to worry about tonight.” He rolled over and stroked the side of Jon’s face, and Jon let him with a happy little hum. “Love you, Jon.” Martin murmured.

“Love you, Martin.” Jon said, drifting into a comfortable sleep.

~*~

Martin didn't so much have an office as Peter Lukas's executive assistant as he had a desk placed in the entry vestibule to Peter's office. Solus Shipping's main office was a fairly grungy old space with scuffed off-white walls, faded and disintegrating carpet, and stained ceiling tiles. Slightly raggedy gray cubicles dotted the office space. Martin couldn't really interact with any of his co-workers from where he sat, separated from the other desks by plexiglass, not that anyone seemed keen to chat with him. Most of his coworkers were considerably older, and they almost never talked amongst themselves. The vibe of the Solus Shipping offices was an excruciatingly tense silence. Two empty chairs sat facing Martin's desk, presumably for visitors, but Martin had yet to schedule a single meeting. Instead he just sat at his desk between two closed doors and stared at spreadsheets.

At the Magnus Institute he had longed for a private office, one where Tim couldn't distract him with random questions throughout the day or he couldn't hear the bass of Sasha's lo-fi concentration playlist through her earbuds. It hadn't been a week yet and he already missed them.

Peter Lukas was an odd man; Martin picked up on that right away. He didn't make eye contact with Martin when they spoke and every time he began a conversation he seemed to be in a race to finish it as quickly as possible. Martin had some experience with socially awkward bosses, so he wasn't too worried about it. 

One of his major duties, he learned, was to manage Peter's email. Martin had full access to it, which he knew could sometimes led to fun discoveries about one's employer. At his previous job as an administrative assistant he'd learned the name of all of his boss's ex spouses, children, and step-children, and even replied to party invites for some of them. 

Peter's email was frustratingly dull. Nearly all of them began with "I hope this email finds you well" and an apology for the late response. The mild mannered questioners would ask about spreadsheets or timecards or delivery estimates, never anything you could sink your teeth into. It took Martin about 40 minutes to draft up a bland email which he would send along to Peter, and which Peter would eventually approve and send. After a few hours answering emails Martin began to yearn for the comfortable repetition and monotony of spreadsheets. 

Martin tried to nod good morning to several of his coworkers as he walked into the office that day, but hadn't been able to make eye contact with anyone. He sat down at his desk, putting a large thermos of tea in its usual spot, but was interrupted before he had a chance to take a sip.

"Martin." Peter said, out of nowhere, making Martin jump at his desk. He could sneak up on you, Peter Lukas.

"Y-yes? Peter?" Martin asked, trying not to look too flustered.

Peter wasn't exactly an intimidating person, but that doesn't matter when you can tell from someone's demeanor that they are wholly and utterly furious with you. Lukas was looking at Martin like he had just spit in his face. 

"Did you get my texts last night?" He asked, tone gentle but threatening.

"I... yes?" Martin had in fact responded to the texts, so the question seemed odd.

"I should have thought then, when I checked my email this morning, that the issue would be resolved. You have to admit, I made you aware of the problem 10 hours ago."

Martin sputtered, he'd barely had time to turn on his monitor.

"What was Elias paying you, again?" Peter asked.

"I... I don't think..." Martin began to answer.

"I have the hardest time finding someone competent for this position." Peter said, staring at Martin coolly. "It's not because I'm not paying them." He spoke as though he was gossiping to some third party about Martin's bad performance. His tone remained gentle and polite. 

"I-I'll sort it out." Martin said. He could hear the fear in his own voice and hated it. It was just like school.

"It's the oddest thing." Peter shook his head with a disappointed expression. He finally turned back to his office, muttering dismissively over his shoulder, "Have a good day, Martin." 

Martin stared at his computer screen, trying very hard not to shake. As soon as Peter's door closed his monitor made the little chiming noise which indicated it had just now booted up. 

~*~

The two new hires for the Magnus archives ended up being Melanie King and a man named Oliver Banks. Jon had taken to Oliver immediately. He was soft spoken but came across as very competent, and, unlike Melanie, he actually had a Master's degree in library sciences. Oliver began to set up his things in Martin's old desk as Melanie settled into Sasha's. Martin's desk had always been a bit messy, decorated with the kinds of knick knacks that you pick up on a whim at a gift shop or Poundland. Oliver kept things clean, streamlined, very little personalization at all. 

Melanie on the other hand spent much of her first day at the office taping about 50 decorative postcards and gig posters all around her desk space so that it looked like the interior of a music venue bathroom.

"So how does this compare to ghost hunting?" Tim asked, peeking over his monitor. 

"So far? Fine. It's nice to not be hawking adverts." Melanie answered. 

"I hadn't thought of that! Are you going to end all your interviews with 'Don't forget to hit that subscribe button!'" 

"I always made someone else say that bit." Melanie admitted. "I never came across as genuine."

"You'll have to work on that if you actually go out and do some oral history interviews with Jon." 

"I'll be all right. I can talk to people." Melanie said.

Tim tilted his head at her, begging the question. She narrowed her eyes.

"Admittedly I'd prefer not to speak to men." She finally said.

"There it is!" Tim laughed. 

"Only because you're all such bell-ends." 

"Look, you may be the only woman here, but it's not so bad!" Tim protested, "I think Elias is the only straight person in the whole bloody archive!" Tim had been delighted when Oliver put a picture of his partner up on his desk. "Which makes this officially the least hetero place I've ever worked, and I was an intern at the Lesbian Herstory Archive in Brooklyn." 

"Of course you were." Melanie said, rolling her eyes. 

"And I'm not sure Elias is straight." Jon added, surprising everyone as he opened his office door to join in the conversation. Oliver glanced up for the first time. In his brief tenure at the Archives, Oliver had rarely been tempted into some time-wasting banter.

"What?" Tim asked, actually stunned.

"I don't know, I think there's something going on with him and Martin's new boss. The way he keeps bringing him up." Jon said with a shrug. 

"Anyway..." Melanie looked like she enjoyed talking about Elias's hypothetical love life as much as she would enjoy talking about dental work. "Georgie wanted to ask if you and Martin.. and Tim... and OLIVER" Melanie spoke up to cut through whatever Oliver was listening to, "Would like to go out for drinks. She said she didn't trust you to initiate proper office social introductions." 

Tim chuckled at that. Jon scowled. 

"Well... tell her that sounds lovely." Jon answered, once again attempting to channel Martin. 

"Can I bring Sasha?" Tim asked. "I think you'd get along. She's definitely not a man." 

"That's fine, the more the merrier." Melanie said with a sigh. 

Jon glanced over at the filing cabinets, eye drawn by a flash of pink paper sticking out of the front of one of the drawers. He edged over to it and carefully pulled one open to reveal a startlingly bright array of organizational labels on the files.

"Who did... are these organized by subject?" Jon asked, voice softening in admiration.

At that Oliver looked up from his computer, finally pulling out an earbud.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind, I did that." He said.

Jon began to flip through the folders, stroking through the tabs almost in awe. 

"This is brilliant." he muttered, "This will save so much time!"

"I just thought it made sense." Oliver said with a little smile. Jon let out what could only be described as a delighted little cackle. 

"Don't get too excited, boss man, think of your heart." Tim teased.

"When did you even have time to reorganize those things?" Melanie asked.

"Oh it didn't take any time. It was mostly for my own purposes really." Oliver said. "I'm a bit of a stickler for organization." 

"Teacher's pet!" Tim scoffed.

"Tim!" Jon scolded, before turning and grinning directly at Oliver. "Excellent work, Oliver! Well done! Can't tell you how happy I am to have you on the team!" 

Oliver smiled pleasantly and went back to work. Melanie rolled her eyes. Jon looked down at the labels, both color coded and organized by date and subject, and felt a little rush of excitement. THIS was how you ran an archive!

~*~

They all ended up going out for drinks that Friday. Oliver had to cancel, he and his partner had previous plans, but Tim, Sasha, Melanie, Georgie, and Jon all found themselves seated around a table at a different pub than usual. 

"I feel like I'm out with a celebrity." Sasha said, looking at Georgie with unrestrained admiration and sipping her Snakebite. "I love your podcast." 

"Jon told us all about your podcast but SOMEHOW failed to mention that he knew you." Tim added. "We only found out from Martin." 

"Where is Martin, by the way?" Georgie asked. "I haven't properly met him, really."

"You have!" Jon protested.

"I knew you were going to say that." Georgie said, rolling her eyes, "Yes, technically I met him at Melanie's that one time but it was only for 30 seconds and I was kind of... distracted." She took Melanie's hand and smiled at her. 

"Awww!" Sasha said before she could help it. She took another drink to avoid a further outburst.

"Right, meet-cute aside, where is Martin?" Tim asked. 

Jon glanced at his phone.

"I'm not sure actually, he said he was going to be a bit late but it's been nearly a half hour now." 

"How's he liking his new job?" Sasha asked. 

"He hasn't talked about it much!" Jon admitted. "It's keeping him busy, though."

"I'm willing to bet you haven't thought to ask him much about it." Georgie teased. 

Jon sputtered in response, and Tim and Sasha laughed. 

"I'm loving this 'bully Jon' energy right now." Tim said.

"I am still your boss, Tim." Jon pointed out, taking a sip of his pint.

"Right, Georgie, remember, he is _my boss_ as well, now." Melanie warned.

"I cannot believe they let you have any authority over people." Georgie said, shaking her head and continuing as if Melanie hadn't said anything. "Don't get me wrong," she addressed everyone else at the table, "Jon's lovely, but he's absolutely the last person I would imagine in any sort of leadership position." 

"Yes, well, that's because you're an anarchist." Jon mumbled.

"Fair point!" Georgie laughed. 

At that point Martin finally appeared at the table, dressed in somewhat rumpled office clothes and puffing from his hurried commute.

"Hullo!" He said. "I'm so sorry! I was just trying to finish up some budgeting, it was all a mess, and then the time got away from me and I missed the train by a millisecond..."

"Don't worry Martin!" Sasha soothed him with a smile. "We've just been chatting!"

"Right! Good! Yes!" Martin sank into a seat next to Jon, and smiled at Melanie and Georgie directly. "Good to see you both again! I'm so happy you've joined the team, Melanie!" 

"Georgie was just saying she's never met you!" Jon said, hoping for some backup from his significant other. 

"Well.. it _was_ brief!" Martin acceded in a conciliatory way. 

"If you've got any Jon bullying left, best to get it out now." Tim said to Georgie, "It's much harder to do when Martin's around." 

"Bullying Jon!?" Martin's eyes widened, affronted on Jon's behalf. "Why?" 

"See what I mean?" Tim said. "It's like punching a kitten." 

"It's all right, I can take a little bullying." Jon said. "I'm not a delicate flower."

"Just out of curiosity though, Martin..." Sasha leaned forward across the table. "Has Jon asked you much about your new job?" 

Martin paused, glancing over at Jon. 

"Oh... I mean... he's been very busy with all the interviews..."

"I KNEW IT!" Georgie announced, and all of them began to laugh.

"But he's asked!" Martin protested, voice scarcely making it through over the laughter. "He's asked about it!" 

"How is the job, Martin? You like it?" Sasha asked.

That day Peter had called Martin in to complain about no less then seven very minor typographical errors, and when Martin had miraculously completed a pristine monthly budget in record time at the end of the day, Peter had simply accepted it with not so much as a thank you. Martin's expression remained set.

"It's fine." He answered. "The pay is very good. Not nearly as exciting as your job, digital humanist! What's that been like?" 

Sasha lit up at Martin's compliments, and began a lengthy anecdote about a network visualization she was creating that was going to shed some light on Liverpool merchants and the slave trade in the early 18th century. Everyone's attention turned to Sasha which allowed Martin to slip away, unnoticed, to get his own pint. Before he fully stepped away from the table however, he felt Jon's hand reach out for his and give it a squeeze. Martin turned and made eye contact with his boyfriend. No one else noticed Martin's deflection. He was very good at deflecting—he'd spent years doing it—flattering other people while keeping himself very much in the background. But Jon was looking right at him. Martin, to his own embarrassment, almost teared up. He squeezed Jon's hand back, before leaving to pick up his pint.


	4. Intimidating in Person

Martin woke up to the distinct click of his apartment door opening. For a moment, half in and half out of consciousness, he thought he'd imagined it. Then, through the wall, he heard a muffled female voice. 

Someone had just walked into his home.

He jolted up, reaching out for Jon before remembering that they'd each spent the night at their own apartment for the first time in months. He could still hear the woman's voice from his living room, laughing insincerely at something someone else (!!!) had said. Martin scrambled out of bed to put some trousers on. 

"Pardon me?" He asked, flinging open the door of his bedroom. Despite the obvious intrusion into his property he could still pick up a humiliating note of apology in his own voice. He'd always suspected that he might be the sort of person to apologize to a burglar. He did his best to look fierce.

"Mr. Blackwood!" A tall woman with curled brown hair and a mauve pantsuit approached with her hand outstretched. Despite a large and attractive smile, her eyes were cold and empty, like a snake's. "I'm Helen, I left you several messages yesterday about when I would be showing the flat."

"You... what?" Martin asked, eyes flitting between the woman in front of him and the middle aged white couple in his kitchen.

The couple standing behind Helen had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed, but when Helen waved her hand at them to encourage them to continue looking around they turned their attention back to opening and closing Martin's dishwasher. The few plates and bowls within it clinked in discomfort.

Martin grabbed his phone and began to scroll through his old messages as the strangers began to open and shut his cabinet doors. It didn't say he'd missed any calls, and yet when he clicked on the voicemail he saw three notifications. 

"Bloody hell." Martin muttered. "Aren't you meant to wait until I confirm? Before you, you know, bring people here?" He asked, trying to hide somewhat behind his door. His nightshirt, old, torn, and pit-stained, was not anything he wanted to inflict on the general public.

"There's an exception after three voicemails." Helen tilted her head. "If you'd like I could refrain from showing the bedroom today." 

"No... it's fine." Martin said, (it wasn't fine.) "I'll just, give me a second... I'll just change clothes..." He retreated into the bedroom.

"Lovely." Helen said with a smile, turning back to the possible renters. "Let me know if you have any questions!" She trilled, pleasantly.

Twenty minutes later Martin found himself with a soggy sandwich and an over-steeped tea at an Au Bon Pain, scrolling through his phone. He'd texted Jon about the whole silly situation of course, poking fun at his embarrassed and apologetic exit from his own apartment, but Jon had yet to text back. Martin realized that Jon was probably driving—he and Oliver were going to do their first Oral History interview as a team that day. It was out in Kent, so, not horrifically far away but still a bit of a drive. That was why Martin had spent the night at his own place, actually, so he could sleep in.

How well that had worked out for him.

Martin took too large a sip of his tea, hissing when it burned his tongue and bottom lip. The first time he and Jon had gone together on an oral history trip he'd woken up early, like a child anticipating Christmas morning. He'd gotten all his snacks together for the trip, scolded himself for his own idiocy, and then forced himself to sit on his couch, imagining all the ways it could go wrong. It had, all things considered, gone incredibly well in hindsight, but poor past Martin hadn't known that.

He wondered, against his will and against his own good judgment, whether Oliver had felt a similar type of nervousness that morning.

"Stop it, Martin!" He whispered to himself. Down that road lay madness. Besides, he had ABSOLUTE faith in Jon. Just because he and Jon had got together on a work trip didn't mean that Jon was just going to fall in bed with the closest archival assistant at hand.

That said... Jon spoke of Oliver very highly. Much more highly, Martin imagined, than he had ever spoken about Martin before, well... before they became a thing.

Martin stared at his phone again, desperate from a distraction from his own, stupid headspace. He was too embarrassed to share any of his worries with Sasha or Tim (besides, he already knew what they'd say,) so, as a last resort, he opened his work email. There he was. Peter Lukas, who'd sent him no fewer than 4 emails since 5:30pm on Friday, all of them lengthy, detailed, and requiring of all of his attention.

It wasn't how he'd intended to spent his Saturday, but Martin almost felt relief as he read the first message. Might as well get a start on it for Monday. Not much better to do.

~*~

"If- If you'd prefer to listen to music, feel free to use the aux cord." Jon suggested, about 40 minutes into their drive. Oliver seemed to be a reserved sort of person, which suited Jon just fine, but he didn't want to force silence on anyone. 

"Actually... if you don't mind, there is a band I've been listening to quite a bit recently." Oliver answered, tentatively reaching for the aux cord and glancing at Jon with questioning eyes.

"Go ahead! I'm not picky." Jon answered. That was a lie, but he'd learned from both Georgie and Martin that suffering through sub-par music in silence was far more socially acceptable than sneering your way through a friend's recommendations. 

Oliver went ahead and connected his phone to the aux and pressed play.

Dark heavy synthwave chords cut through the silence, and Jon's eyebrows raised in spite of himself. Deep male vocals broke in over the bass-line and drum machine, singing something mopey and dramatic in Russian. 

"Good lord." Jon said.

"Sorry, is new wave not your thing?" Oliver apologized, pausing his phone in embarrassment.

"No!" Jon laughed, "Quite, quite the opposite, this is VERY much... the sort of thing I... who is this!?!?"

"Molchat Doma." Oliver said, pressing play again with a relieved smile. "They're from Belarus and they sound like something from 1982."

"Are they... not from 1982?" Jon asked. He'd been certain they must have been, he hadn't heard a drum machine like that in years.

"This song came out two months ago!" Oliver answered. "I've been enjoying listening to them at the office. I can't understand the words so I can still get work done while I listen."

"Ah." Jon answered. "I've noticed you keep your earbuds in most of the time." 

"I always do. It helps me focus." Oliver answered. 

"Well, I like this... very much." Jon said, chuckling to himself, "Thank you for introducing me to it!"

Jon turned his attention back on the road. The echoing synths and bass of the song reminded him viscerally of the Sisters of Mercy, and he couldn't help but tap his fingers on the steering wheel. Of course, now the Sisters of Mercy always made him think of Martin. He smiled, remembering the sweet way Martin had blushed as they danced together to that ridiculous song, the comforting weight of Martin's hands on his hips, the taste of too-sweet alcohol on Martin's lips as they kissed. He couldn't WAIT to come home and tell Martin about how well this trip had gone. Assuming, of course, that the oral history recording actually went well. Judging from everything he knew about Oliver, he didn't doubt that it would. His phone buzzed a few times in his pocket, but he couldn't check while he drove. He'd take a look at it once they got to Kent. 

~*~

Jon and Oliver had scheduled about three interviews in the span of one week, which meant that Tim and Melanie had full run of the office. Back when Tim and Sasha worked together, the days when Jon was out always held a giddy energy. It was like the kids had been left in charge. One time while Jon was away, memorably, a discussion that Sasha started about playlists had devolved into an archival techno dance party with several of the library staff. It was all good fun.

So far, things had been more quiet with Melanie.

Tim liked Melanie. He liked the way she showed up to the office about 20 minutes late every day with an artisanal smoothie, he liked the way she swore out loud whenever she got an email, and he liked how she didn't seem to give a shit about what people thought of her. Unfortunately she didn't seem to give a shit about Tim, or what he thought of her, which was proving something of a hamper to his attempts to build a friendship. 

He'd sent Melanie some funny videos and gifs the way he had done with Sasha when they shared an office (and, indeed, continued to do even now that they were in different workplaces,) but she never seemed to see them until hours later. Even then, he was lucky to get even a "thumbs up" reaction. This was a puzzling situation.

Three days into Jon's absence, a dull, quiet morning threatened to progress into a dull, quiet afternoon. Tim was just about to close his eyes for a nap when Elias, of all people, stepped into the office without warning.

"Good afternoon, Tim. Melanie." He said, with his usual smug composure. He looked out of place in the archives, like a tech bro who had somehow stumbled into a group of coal miners. 

"Hello boss." Tim said, tone cheerful. "Can we help you?" 

"I actually wanted to speak with Melanie." Elias answered, and turned to face Melanie's desk with an almost ominous looming motion. He laid down a large manila folder in front of her keyboard. "This morning I was looking up some information on one Michael Shelley, who used to be an archival assistant here. Mixed in his folder, along with the usual information, were a few private forms related to one Michael Crew. I presume they were filed there by mistake, as I can find no connection between Michael Crew, who gave a statement regarding the supernatural to the archives, and Michael Shelley, our former employee." 

"Oh! Yeah, I was doing some research into Michael Crew for Jon..." Melanie said, brow furrowing, obviously trying to remember what had taken place.

"I assumed that there had been some kind of mistake, so I checked who had made the most recent changes to that folder. I'm afraid it was you, Melanie." Elias said. "Last Wednesday, to be exact."

"Oh!" Melanie sort of stuttered, "I-I'm sorry, I must have picked up the wrong folder..."

"Of course. it's not a problem." Elias said, in a tone that left no question that it actually was a problem, "I just wanted to make you aware of the issue as you are, of course, an archival assistant, and part of your role is to make sure the archives, and digital archives, are maintained in an orderly fashion." 

"Right, yes, I'm sorry." Melanie said. "I-I'll pay more attention in the future." 

"Good, yes, that should be... adequate." Elias said, the low self-pleased grumble in his voice triggering some kind of rage response from Tim of which he hadn't before realized he was capable. Tim began to rap his pen against the edge of his desk to restrain himself from throwing it directly at his supervisor.

Elias sauntered his way back to the door of the archives, leaving a humiliated Melanie and a pissed off Tim in his wake. Before fully leaving the room, though, he turned around.

"You know, Melanie, you aren't quite so intimidating in person as you are on your Youtube channel. Good afternoon, all!" He said, voice dripping with condescension, and with that he finally left the room.

Melanie's entire body tensed. Her eyes, still focused on her computer screen, looked almost crazed. Tim could see her hands clench into fists. 

"HEY!" Tim nearly yelled, trying to snap Melanie out of it. " _That_ was fucked up! Who needs a snack?" 

Melanie let out an anguished little laugh, fists still clenched.

"C'mon." Tim said, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "Let's have a fucking cup of tea." 

~*~

The tea break lasted about an hour and a half. Melanie and Tim settled into a local tea-shop, not even the best one, just the closest, and laid claim to a small antique couch in the corner. The other patrons, all plugged into their laptops, paid the two coworkers no mind.

"I could wring his smug neck." Melanie growled. "How dare he?"

"Elias has always been a wanker, I'm so sorry." Tim said. "Usually he's haranguing me about typos in transcripts, he can be a real piece of shit." 

"'Not as intimidating in person'... he talks to me like that again and I'll fucking show him how intimidating I am." 

"You should. You should knock him the fuck out." 

"I could!"

"I don't doubt it." Tim agreed.

"Sorry." Melanie said, shaking her head and taking a deep breath. "I just... I don't like being condescended to."

"Of course you don't! Who does?"

"Right but like... I really don't? I've been trying to work on it with my therapist, she's been giving me these tools to sort out my anger."

"Is one of them 'have tea with a coworker and talk shit about your double boss?'" Tim asked.

Melanie looked thoughtful.

"Talking through my feelings instead of stabbing someone IS actually one of the tools... so I think this counts!" Melanie answered.

"Well then I'm happy to help." 

"Jon can be irritating but at least he's not condescending." She said. 

"He's got a lot better since dating Martin." Tim said. "He used to be a real prat." 

"I can't believe that dating a coworker actually made him MORE sufferable." Melanie shook her head. "Sorry, no offense, I forgot about you and..."

"None taken!" Tim laughed. "Sasha and I are an odd case."

"Are you like... together together?" Melanie asked. "I mean, is she your girlfriend?"

"We've never officially said." Tim said. "I mean, if she proposed to me tomorrow I'd say yes, obviously, but I'm not sure if I'm allowed to call her my girlfriend." 

"Ah, one of those." Melanie said, nodding in understanding. "That's rough, buddy." 

Tim shrugged. He and Sasha hooked up just about every weekend now, and spoke every day. He didn't really have any interest in seeing anyone else, and he'd love if they could be, officially, an item, but he was willing to give her more time to figure it out.

"God, I feel like I'm back at school, trying to work out everyone's relationship status." Melanie laughed.

"Oh my god." Tim leaned forward, exactly like a school age mean girl would while talking shit on lunch break. "Ever since Jon mentioned that Elias might not be straight, I have not known peace."

"I wish I could say that he has to be straight because he's so evil, but I've known too many evil gays." Melanie said, shaking her head. "Youtube." 

"Sasha's been my enabler, she's been trying to find his marriage records in public databases." 

"She's what!?! Is that legal?" Melanie asked.

"It's a bit weird, but I'm afraid it's legal. Such is the modern world." 

"You're both ridiculous." Melanie finished her tea took a deep breath. "I think I've calmed down enough to avoid murder. You ready to head back?" 

"Oh you're no fun." Tim huffed.

"Excuse you, I'm very fun." Melanie smiled. "You've just got to get to know me." 

She was scolding him, but the way she said it implied that he had a chance of getting to know her a bit better. Tim tried not to look too pleased. He knew he'd figure something out eventually.

~*~

Martin was so tired he nearly missed the stop for the Magnus Archives, despite having taken that route nearly every day for years before switching jobs. He had worked a ten hour day for Peter before Jon asked him to do this favor, so he was running on fumes mostly. He exited the tube stop into the dim, slightly hazy streets of London, the sun in the process of setting and street lamps switching on. 

It was fine. He just had to pick up a few files from the office and then it was a short 40 minute commute back to Jon's place. Once he was home he only had a few more emails to look into for Peter, and then bed. Although, when he had stepped off the tube and reconnected to mobile service his phone had buzzed in a way that suggested those emails may be multiplying.

He gritted his teeth and let the phone buzz. No need to look at those yet, first things first. He made his way towards the imposing neoclassical stone structure of the Magnus Institute. The old route brought back memories of many a morning commute, not all of them pleasant, but certainly familiar. He retraced his steps instinctually down to the basement entrance to the archives, using one of Jon's keys to get in. He hoped Elias hadn't hired any new security guards who wouldn't know his face, or it might be hard to explain why he was there.

He didn't encounter anyone on his way to the office, but he saw that a light was still on inside. Usually that meant Jon, but he knew for a fact that Jon was home already. 

"Hello?" He called out, opening the door, "It's just me, sorry to bother you..." 

"Martin!" Melanie King answered, looking up from her desk. The rest of the office was empty, besides from her. "What are you doing here?" 

"Just picking a few things up for Jon." Martin said. "He left work without some files he needs for this weekend's trip." 

"Ah." Melanie tilted her head. "It must out of the way for you, though? To come pick it up."

"It's not a problem." Martin said, smiling weakly. "He was already home, it made more sense for me to come." 

"He's been gone on a lot of trips lately." Melanie said. "I feel like I've hardly worked with him!"

"Don't I know it!" Martin answered. He meant it as a joke but it came out a bit sour.

Melanie looked at the time. "Have you had dinner yet?" She asked him.

"Not yet. Have you? You're here a bit late yourself, aren't you?" Martin asked, beginning to bristle somewhat. Surely he could just pick up his partner's papers without a cross-examination?

"I packed mine. And I didn't show up until noon today because I had a migraine so I'm working late to make up for it." She said. "Don't worry about me, I've got quite good boundaries when it comes to my work/life balance."

Martin's face set, as he struggled not to take what she said personally. (He failed.) 

"I'll just pick up the files then." He said.

"Wait! Martin, I'm sorry." Melanie stood up. "I feel like we got off on the wrong foot." 

"No! Of course not! It's fine." Martin smiled in a placating way, the way he smiled at his mother, or at Peter. The way he used to smile when Jon was being cross.

"Right." Melanie said. "Well, you know where Jon's office is, I suppose."

"I do." Martin said, and tried not to give away his irritation in the way that he walked into the room. He was just tired, was all. Just cross for no reason. 

When he flicked on the light in Jon's office he saw it was just as cluttered and dusty as it usually was. The bin was past full, and Jon had actually left one of his pens on his desk uncapped. 

Martin resolutely changed the bin-bag and moved the dirtied tea mug to the kitchen sink, but when he returned to recap the pen he noticed a square envelope on Jon's desk. It was a cd, marked with permanent marker. Martin picked it up to see if it was some sort of archival artifact, out of place on Jon's desk, when he saw the label.

"Here's the mix you asked for! Hope you enjoy. :^) -Oliver." 

Martin, despite knowing better, despite logically understanding that everything was fine and that Jon would never, ever hurt him, still felt the wind knocked out of him at the sight of that signature. It was like being punched in the gut. Stupid tears that he despised and made him furious with himself clouded his vision. 

Music was very important to Jon. Martin didn't always understand it but he loved the way Jon got worked up talking about it, the way he danced his way through the apartment whilst playing an album he really enjoyed. Martin didn't love any music the way Jon did. The thought of making him a mix only made him feel inadequate. 

But that's silly. It's a cd, it doesn't mean anything. He _knows_ Jon, he knows Jon loves him. 

Martin sat for a moment at Jon's desk, trying to pull himself together. Despite his best efforts he could still feel tears prickling at the edge of his eyelids, so he took out his phone for some kind of distraction. In the hour since he had left the office, Peter had sent him 3 new emails. He opened the first one. Maybe he could sort this one out from here, it would save time later when he came home.

He almost jumped out of his skin when Melanie rapped on the door.

"You need help finding something?" She asked. Despite his best efforts to look chipper, Martin watched her expression fall into one of concern as she looked at him.

"It's fine, I found them." Martin answered. "I'm just finishing up a bit of work." 

"Right." Melanie looked as though she was going to say something else, but Martin pretended not to notice and turned his full attention back to his phone.

She left without saying anything else.

~*~

Martin made it back to Jon's apartment about an hour and half later. Well after dark.

"Martin!" Jon opened the bedroom door, where he'd finally given in and started to read a book after several of Martin's "be home soon!" texts had come and gone. "Are you all right?" He asked.

"Yes, I'm fine! I'm fine, Jon." Martin said. "It just... I had some work for Peter that needed doing and I did some of it out of your office." 

"Oh." Jon could feel the chill of irritation in Martin's voice, but he didn't know what to do about it. "I'm sorry I asked you to go to the institute for me, I know you're busy."

"I said it's fine." Martin answered, and at his tone Jon shut up.

"Would... have you eaten?" Jon asked.

"Not yet." 

"I'll heat something up for you." Jon offered.

"I can do it myself." Martin said, putting his bag down and making his way into the kitchen. That was the last straw for Jon, who followed him into the kitchen with intent.

"Look here, Martin, you can't just freeze me out..." Jon protested.

"I'm NOT!" Martin nearly shouted, making Jon flinch. Martin covered his mouth in horror. "Oh my God, Jon, I'm so sorry! I'm just... I'm knackered, and I'm cross, and it's not your fault..."

Jon didn't wait for Martin to finish, he just stepped forward and put his arms around Martin, resting his face against Martin's warm shoulder and giving him a protective squeeze. Martin froze for a moment, before pulling Jon against him even closer and kissing the side of his head. The two men stood, holding one another, just breathing for a minute. 

"Let's get you some food, shall we?" Jon said, after several minutes just enjoying Martin's warmth. 

"God I'm starving." Martin admitted with a slightly weepy smile. 

"Well then, sit." Jon said, kissing Martin's cheek. "I can do something about that." 

As Jon went to refrigerator to pull out some leftover lentil soup and homemade flatbread he kept an eye on Martin. He looked relieved, certainly, the cold and distant expression he'd worn upon entering the apartment was gone, but he still looked a bit sad. Something was up. Jon wasn't going to get whatever it was out of him that night, but he was nothing if not persistent. 

"Wine?" Jon asked.

"No, it'd just make me feel worse." Martin let out another deep sigh. As he did so his phone buzzed.

"Ignore it." Jon said.

"Can't." Martin mumbled, picking up the phone and obediently swiping it open. Whatever it was, Martin let out another deep sigh and began typing away. He'd be caught up in whatever that message was for another fifteen minutes if experience was to hold.

Jon clenched his teeth. He was going to have to do something about this Peter Lukas fellow.


	5. Ex's and Oh's

Martin sat, alone as ever in his dim office enclave, putting the finishing touches on a petty email response to a shipping representative. A notification popped up in his personal work inbox. It was an email from the Magnus Institute, Jon had forwarded it to him. 

He put his masterpiece on hold and opened up the email. 

A rather elegant email invite, the kind that people use for baby showers and 50th anniversary parties, invited Jon in a swirling font to that year's Magnus Archives fundraising gala.

Martin laughed out loud. The lowly archivists were _never_ invited to the annual gala. The gala kept Elias Bouchard in a state of high stress for months; he always pulled out all the stops to thank and attract wealthy donors to the Magnus foundation. The basement dwelling cardigan wearers of the archives were not, in Elias's opinion, putting the Institute's best foot forward.

The closest they were usually allowed to get to the gala was eating catering leftovers in the breakroom the next day.

Martin scrolled to Jon's comment on the email.

"I get a plus one! You and I can finally eat those tiny sandwiches DAY OF!" 

Martin grinned. 

Then, to his surprise, he saw a very similar email appear in Peter Lukas's inbox.

An invitation to the Magnus Institute's fundraising gala. Of course he knew that Peter Lukas was an institute donor, but it stil surprised him to see the same email appearing in both his and Peter's inbox. He clicked on Peter's invite to see if it differed at all from that of the archival staff.

There was, in fact, a difference. Elias had personally added a short addendum to Peter's invitation.

"Do try not to embarrass me, Peter. -E." 

It took every ounce of Martin's willpower not to forward the email on to Jon right away. Peter would be able to see that, of course. Instead he took a screenshot and sent it to Jon surrounded by an excessive number of exclamation points. 

Peter stepped out of his office a few minutes later, an odd expression on his face. It wasn't his usual expression of cool aloofness, he actually had a spark of anticipation in his eyes, and a strange smile.

"I suppose you saw that invitation? From your old office?"

"Yes! I did!" Martin answered, ignoring the ding of an inbox response from Jon. "Are you planning to attend?" 

"Of course. I wouldn't want to let Elias down, would I?" Peter said with his impossible to read smile. Martin laughed awkwardly in response, absolutely no idea what he meant. "You wouldn't be interested in joining me, would you Martin?" Peter asked, "I know Elias doesn't usually invite staff to such events. It would be an interesting way to experience your old place of work." 

"Oh! Erm, that's very kind of you, Peter, but I'm already going." Martin muttered.

"Eh?" Peter asked.

"My, erm, partner, he still works at the Institute. I'll be his plus one." 

"How wonderful for you. I forgot you still had attachments there." Peter looked Martin up and down. "So I suppose I'll see you at the gala!"

"Right! Yeah!" Martin said. 

"You wouldn't mind doing me a favor and looking into tuxedos for me, would you? I'm afraid most of mine must be out of fashion at this point."

"Oh, erm..."

"It is work relevant, of course. For events like this."

"Sure..." Martin said. "Sure it's not a problem." Martin had not anticipated having to learn Peter Lukas's tuxedo size as part of his job as an administrative assistant, but life comes at you fast. 

Martin allowed himself a quick glance at his inbox, and saw that Jon's response was filled with even more exclamation points and question marks than had been in his initial message. Struck by a moment of confidence, Martin asked out loud in a tumble of words,

"Peter, how- how do you and Elias know one another?" 

Peter, who had been about to turn back into his office, turned back to Martin with a quizzical expression.

"Didn't Elias tell you?" Peter asked.

"No." Martin answered, shaking his head.

"He's my ex-husband." Peter answered, as casually as if he were letting Martin know that it was raining outside. "Have you managed to book the hotels for the board meeting next month, by the way? I got a call from Richard and he still seemed confused." 

"Almost." Martin responded, trying to keep his expression neutral. 

"Not yet? Hm." Any warmth in Peter's expression drained to his usual glance of scorn. "You'll want to get a start on that, Martin." And with that he returned to his office, leaving a wound-up Martin practically steaming from the ears with this new information.

~*~

Jon swung open his office door with such force that the hinges made a distressed noise, only to stare at his confused employees in absolute strangled silence. A deep, sensible part of his brain reminded him that it would probably be unprofessionial to just shout "PETER LUKAS IS ELIAS'S EX HUSBAND" out to the entire office.

All three of his employees stared at their boss, still standing frozen in the doorway with his eyes bugged out like Peter Lorre, with varying degrees of surprise and concern. Jon finally pulled himself together enough to ask "Tim, may I speak with you in my office?" in a muffled attempt at professionalism.

"Sure?" Tim stood to join him.

A few minutes later found both of them staring at one another in Jon's office, eyes manic, struggling for words.

"I feel like... its simultaneously the worst thing I've ever heard and yet utterly inconsequential." Tim managed to express.

"That's exactly it! I'm shocked and horrified but I couldn't tell you why? I mean... he's allowed to have an ex-husband!" Jon said.

"Mm. Is he, though?" Tim asked, making a skeptical face.

"You're right I can't even think about it." Jon said, shaking his head in horror.

"I haven't even met Peter but from everything Martin's said my mental picture him is some sort of Romance Novel sailor man." 

"He's... tall? I think? That's all I know! I'll meet him at the gala I expect!" Jon said with a gasp. "Good lord." 

"I can't believe Elias is letting us go to that, by the way." Tim said. "Our mere existence is an embarrassment to him." 

Jon blinked a few times.

"Wait, you're going as well?" 

"Yeah, I got the invite this morning. Sash'll be chuffed, she thinks I didn't notice but I always saw her lingering glances at the guest list every year." 

"Are we all... did he invite the whole office?" Jon asked.

Tim shrugged. 

Jon stood up and opened the door to his office again.

"Oliver, Melanie, did you each get an invitation to the gala?" He asked, as Tim joined him in the doorway.

"Yeah." Melanie answered, pulling out her headphones and tilting her head to the side. "Why? Is that weird or something?" 

"I got an invitation as well." Oliver said. "I assumed everyone did."

"Look at you! Lucky bastards! Not even here six months and they get to go to the gala!" Tim said to Jon. 

"So all four of us are invited, and we each get a plus one," Jon squinted in confusion. "He's invited an extra eight people! That's quite a lot!"

"He's probably just trying to fill the room up so it looks like a better party." Melanie said with a shrug.

"Or he's finally realized what a brilliant party guest I am and he invited all of you so it doesn't look like I'm the favorite." Tim said with a grin.

"It'll just be seven, anyway." Oliver said with a deep sigh. Everyone turned to look at him. Usually when they got on an off topic ramble like this, Oliver, steadfast, kept his focus on work. "Graeme and I have split up." He said.

"Oh I'm so sorry to hear that." Jon said, voice softening in concern. "How are you holding up?" 

"All right, I guess. It's not exactly a surprise, but still disappointing." 

"I'm sure." Jon said. 

Melanie glanced back and forth between the two of them, rapping her fingers on her desk. 

"Yeah, sorry mate." Tim said. "On the bright side, the gala is the perfect place to find a fifty-year-old boyfriend who's absolutely flush with cash." 

"Tim!" Jon scolded.

"Gross." Melanie said.

"I'll give it some thought." Oliver responded, giving them all a rare glimpse of his dry sense of humor.

"Really though, Oliver, let me know if you need anything." Jon said. He turned his attention back to everyone else in the office. "We should probably all get back to work, eh?" 

"Yeah. Can I speak with you in your office for a second, though?" Melanie asked. 

Melanie hadn't reached out to Jon like that since she began work at the institute. He gave her a sort of surprised smile.

"Certainly!" He held the door open for her and allowed Melanie to step into his office first.

Melanie didn't sit down, choosing instead to pace across the desk from Jon with a nervous energy, even more wound up than she usually was.

"Look, Jon, I'm sorry if this is out of line or whatever, but I just wanted to say..." She gave him a serious look. "The other night, when Martin was in here... he just seemed... I think you should be careful with Oliver." 

"W-what?" Jon asked with a blink. 

Melanie let out an exasperated sigh.

"I just saw the way Martin looked when he left your office the other night and I think he's... I think he's stressed out and I know from Georgie that you can miss things sometimes..."

"Please don't bring up my relationship with Georgie in a professional context. It's entirely irrelevant." Jon snapped, voice lowering about an octave. Jon was using his serious voice. If Melanie knew him better she might have taken that as a warning and backed off a bit. As it was she didn't recognize the shift.

"I'm not speaking in a professional context, I'm talking to you about your boyfriend." She responded.

"You are. And frankly, it does strike me as out of line." 

"Oh you pr..." Melanie swallowed a rising insult. "I'm just trying to help." She growled. 

"I don't think that my personal relationship is any business of yours. And I'm insulted that you would think that Oliver and I..."

" _I_ don't think ANYTHING about you and Oliver! I just think that Martin might..."

"Melanie, I thank you for your concern, but it's entirely inappropriate. Please leave my office." Jon said, with a note of finality.

"Fine. I was _literally_ just trying to help." Melanie matched Jon's tone for haughty irritation and swept out of the room, leaving Jon to stew.

~*~

Jon, not having the use of his hands thanks to the two piles of flattened Tesco boxes he was struggling to carry under each arm, knocked on the door of Martin's flat with his foot. One of Martin's neighbors nodded at him as she walked past, and in his attempt to nod back three of the larger boxes all slid to the floor.

"Oh BOLLOCKS." Jon muttered, dropping the rest of the pile exactly as Martin opened the door.

"Hullo to you, too!" Martin said, as Jon scrambled to pick up after himself.

Together the two of them managed to wrangle all of the boxes inside, and Jon was able to take a look at Martin's progress in the first stage of packing up. Everything looked just about the same as usual, except there were piles of folders and boxes and miscellania scattered throughout the place. Some bedsheets and loose pillows were rumpled on the couch, next to a dirty cup of tea on the coffee table.

"Sorry about the mess." Martin rubbed the back of his neck and made an apologetic face. "I got distracted whilst packing up my rubbish closet." 

"Are you sleeping on the couch?" Jon asked, gesturing to the pile of pillows.

"Sort of, yeah, I got ahead of myself and advertized my bedframe and mattress for sale a week ago. They both sold in about twenty minutes." Martin said, with a bizarre note of apology.

"You've sold your bed?" Jon asked.

"I have." 

"You do realize we've got three weeks until you move in, yet?" Jon pointed out.

"Yes of course I know that, I just forgot that Londoners go mad for a cheap mattress." 

"Well, you're always welcome in my bed, you know." Jon said, hating the way it sounded the moment he said it.

Martin of course couldn’t let Jon get away with that.

"Wow! You lush! Guess I know what I'm good for!" Martin teased.

"Good lord, Martin, you know that's not what I..."

"It's fine, there's worse fates than being your lover-boy!" 

The way Martin grinned as he teased him was a welcome sight, one Jon hadn't seen in a few weeks now, so he let him have his fun with only a few muttered grumblings in self defense.

Jon started by packing up Martin's bookshelves. It was an easy job; typical of Martin to be so generous in divvying up the workload. Jon couldn't help but thumb through the pages of the books Martin had accumulated over the years. No old uni textbooks like the ones that weighed down Jon's bookshelves—instead he found dozens of poetry compilations and classics collections, quite a bit of Toni Morrison, a healthy number of Agatha Christie novels and page turners, along with some cookbooks. Martin's library was as warm and comforting as he was, and Jon felt a surge of fondness as he fit the collection like puzzle pieces into his alloted boxes. 

Jon turned to see what Martin was up to, checking if he was at a point in the work where a kiss on the cheek might be welcome, but found Martin distracted. Martin sat cross-legged on the ground next to an old shoebox overstuffed with old greeting cards and papers. His hand covered his mouth and his eyes were wide and wet as he stared at a slightly ragged sheet of paper.

"Hey..." Jon asked, abandoning the bookshelf at once and turning all of his attention to his boyfriend, "are you all right?" 

"It's nothing." Martin said, twitching back into motion and stuffing the paper back into the box. He looked up at Jon's nearly empty bookshelves. "Oh! And you're nearly finished! I'm so sorry, stupid of me, I got distracted." 

"What were you looking at, there?" Jon asked.

"Nothing, really, an old letter, silly of me to drag it out, sorry..." Martin pressed the lid of the shoebox down again, but it just slid right back up from the pressure of its contents.

"You're not stupid, Martin." Jon said, keeping his tone gentle. 

"I know... I know... and you've talked to me about this before, can we just... not?" Martin began to shove more of the closet's contents into a packing box, rumpling some papers and bending folders in the process.

"You know I don't mean-"

"Look, I'm sorry it's taking me so long, can we just get this done, please?" Martin snapped.

"Was it from your mum?" Jon asked. "The paper?" Martin froze up completely, and Jon cursed himself for once again blundering into indelicacy.

"Yes." Martin answered, quiet. "It's the letter she sent after she kicked me out." 

Jon nodded, stunned but doing his best to keep his expression neutral. This was the first he'd heard of Martin being kicked out of his home. He knew that Martin's relationship with his mum was complicated but he hadn't yet sorted out all of the intricacies. Jon felt sort of like he'd dipped a toe in to see if the water was cold and wound up 30 feet below the surface. It was his own fault, of course.

"You kept it?" Jon asked.

"I mean, for what it's worth, it's quite well written." Martin said, smiling defensively. "Mum can really turn a phrase when she's eviscerating you." 

"That's horrible. I'm so sorry." Jon said.

"I mean, I know what it says." Martin said. "I don't know why I even re-read it, it's fine, it's not new information, I should just move on."

"Like ripping out a suture." Jon said, heart breaking a little bit.

"Exactly. Stupid." Martin snapped, standing up to get the roll of packing tape. "I'm fine, Jon, I shouldn't have even told you."

"No! I'm glad you did, and it's not stupid, I wish..." Jon floundered. He could see all the pain and frustration clouding his lovely Martin's face, and he wanted to do something or say something to fix it all and make Martin feel better, but in the face of the delicacy of the situation he couldn't land on any words. Everything he wanted to say would sound false or deficient, somehow. "I wish I could beat the shit out of Peter Lukas." Jon finally finished.

The dramatic subject change made Martin snort.

"Peter? What!? Why?" He asked, sitting back down and starting to tape a box shut.

"He just... I feel like this is all his fault somehow." Jon fumbled for words. "Something about him makes you pick at your scabs." 

Martin actually laughed at that, putting down the packing tape.

"I don't know if its fair to blame Peter Lukas for my trauma." 

Jon shrugged. "Well as I'm sure you've noticed I'm not a fair man."

"Jon!" Martin protested in disbelief. He still looked worse for wear but he was at least well distracted at this point. "He's not that bad! Really!" 

"I don't like how he talks to you." Jon said. "He puts you down all the time, and then you start doing it as well..."

"Jon." Martin took a deep breath. "I'm not a child. I'm sorry it even came up. I do this every time I move to a new flat, I get nostalgic and start looking through things and dredging stuff up... anyway. Can we just carry on packing? I promise not to make any more scenes." 

"Fine." Jon said, holding out his hand over the lid of the messily taped up box. "I love you. You aren't stupid."

Martin gave him a little half smile and took the offered hand. 

"I can't believe you're letting me move in with you." Martin said. "I can show you a letter that might make you change your mind. Mum makes some very compelling points."

"Your mum can, and I mean this with no disrespect, fuck off." Jon said, picking up Martin's hand and kissing it. "Anyway... what's next on the packing list?" 

Martin accepted Jon's offered subject change gratefully, and the two of them spent the rest of the day working together in a mostly comfortable and only somewhat melancholy fashion, getting the majority of the apartment packed up.

~*~

Sasha woke up snuggled underneath a softer-than-hers duvet, relishing the sensation of Tim's high thread-count sheets against her skin. The sun dappled in through the blinds, leaving interesting shadows on the bed in a fashion that hinted at late morning, if it was still morning at all. She craned her neck to check the clock but without her glasses all she could make out was a fuzzy red blob. She settled back into the pillows with a contented sigh. So what if it was noon? It was Saturday, and she had no plans all day. She rolled over to face Tim's back, close enough that she could make out the way his muscles expanded and contracted as he breathed. Her own muscles felt as relaxed as though she'd just finished a thorough yoga class, probably something to do with their somewhat athletic activities the night before. She allowed her eyes to shut once again, daylight be-damned. 

Her mind, however, refused to slow down, and about five minutes later she couldn't stop herself from asking aloud,

"Why on earth would Elias offer Martin to his ex-husband as some kind of bizarre administrative assistant offering?"

Tim grumbled into consciousness, stretching and yawning like a cat as he rolled over to address her. Sasha didn't mean to gawk at his strong arms and chest, but she gawked anyway. 

"How long have you been talking to me about this!?" He asked, a smile creeping to his face. "Because I've been asleep."

"Just now, I started." Sasha said. 

"Right, because it sounds as though you've been talking about this all night and I've only just woken up to join the conversation." 

"Hush. Actually no, don't hush, answer the question." Sasha rolled onto her back, not bothering to pull the sheets up to cover herself. A few weeks ago she might've, but at this point she was so comfortable with Tim that she didn't bother. 

"What was the question again?" Tim laid a gentle kiss on Sasha's shoulder.

"Why would Elias recommend that his ex-husband hire Martin?" 

"Because Martin's lovely? And brilliant?" Tim suggested.

"It's like he's trading archive assistants. Like we're collectors items or something." Sasha said. "I've got to meet this Peter Lukas, it's killing me." Ever since Tim told her Jon and Martin's new discovery about Elias's past she'd pulled every research skill in her repertoire out to find more information about this man. All she'd rustled up was one blurry picture of him on the deck of a boat and a boring interview with some finance magazine. He was loaded, that much she could tell. Other than that though, a complete mystery.

"You will! At that gala!" Tim said, leaning his head against his arm and grinning with cheek. "Unless you don't want to be my plus one?" 

"Oh Tim!" Sasha clapped her hands in delight. "I was so afraid you weren't going to ask!" 

"Wait..." Tim's eyebrows furrowed. "What?" 

"I mean..." Sasha pulled up the covers a bit, blushing somewhat. "I thought you probably would but you weren't explicit about it..."

"I didn't think I needed to ask!" Tim said, disbelieving. "This isn't the yule ball from Harry Potter!"

"Well right, but I know you see other people..."

"What!?" Tim sat up in bed now, stunned.

"We're not like... official official and I didn't want to assume!" 

"So you'd think that I'd take some rando to OUR old workplace gala that I KNOW you want to go to!?"

"I mean I wouldn't have been thrilled about it..."

"Sasha." Tim took Sasha's hand. "Sasha, this is stupid." 

"What is!?" Sasha asked, looking Tim up and down, trying to will away his suddenly serious expression. She could handle a flirty Tim or a jokey Tim or, of late, a sexy Tim, but a serious Tim she had no idea what to do with.

"I..." Tim sort of stuttered as though he was about to say a very important word beginning with "L" which would have probably given Sasha a heart attack, "I would like to be exclusive!" He managed to finish.

"No you wouldn't!" Sasha protested.

"I haven't been with anybody else in six months. To me we're already exclusive." He said. Sasha stared at him, blinking, 

"I feel like I should have a top on for this conversation." She said.

"I could not disagree more." Tim retorted, with a flash of his usual mischief. 

"You haven't had an exclusive partner for as long as I've known you." Sasha said. "You told me once that you were pretty sure monogamy was a patriarchal trap to keep women in subjugation." 

"Ah, I think you'll find I said MARRIAGE was a patriarchal trap to keep women in subjugation." Tim said. 

"I mean yes, obviously it is, but it can also be nice."

"That's what I'm saying!" Tim protested.

"Wait, MARRIAGE!?" Sasha's life flashed before her eyes.

"No no no no no fuck fuck fuck no that's not what I meant!" Tim protested. "I'm not proposing right now... I just mean that I don't usually ask for my partners to be monogamous because it's never felt essential or important to my relationships in the past. But... I don't know... I'd like it if you didn't even think I might not go to the gala with you, or if there just weren't any question that you'll be the one I wake up with, or you'll be the one I go to things with, or I'll be the one who will pick you up from the airport. I want to be that with you." 

"Why!?" Sasha couldn't help but ask. 

"Are you serious?" Tim asked. "Because you're lovely and funny and I think I'm more myself with you than I am even when I'm by myself. And I think I could make you happy." 

"You do make me happy." Sasha admitted, before really thinking about it.

"Good! Bloody brilliant! So what do you say?" 

Sasha looked at Tim's messy hair and scratchy beard and hopeful, clear eyes, and nodded. 

"Tim Stoker, will you be my boyfriend?" She asked, laughing as she did it.

"FUCK YES SASHA! A THOUSAND TIMES FUCKING YES!" 

And with that Tim pulled Sasha against him and into a deep kiss that she didn't quite manage to laugh all the way through. The clock struck noon, but neither of them noticed.


	6. Pocket Squares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> I just wanted to say a quick thanks to all of my lovely readers, you've been so kind in your comments and I always look forward to reading them.
> 
> Next week I'll post the last chapter, and I hope this tides you over until then!

Dressing up usually just made Martin feel even bigger and more self-conscious than usual. He'd never been able to afford a suit of any quality, or to have his own mediocre suits tailored to flatter his shape, so he always ended up looking lumpy and uncomfortable in a jacket that was too tight on his shoulders and trousers that bunched up at his ankles. 

A few weeks before the gala, after a 10 or 11 hour workday, Martin blearily walked into Jon's bedroom to find Jon sprawled out on their bed with his laptop open to a fashion website, looking at accessories.

"What color pocket square are you planning to wear?" Jon asked, as though Martin would just know off the top of his head.

"I've never worn a pocket square once in my life." Martin answered, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed and dropping his satchel bag on the floor. "What _is_ a pocket square? Is it that sort of handkerchief thing that sticks out of your pocket and is meant to match your tie?" 

Jon craned his neck to look at Martin, expression slightly pained.

"First of all it's not a handkerchief." He pointed out, failing to hide his horror at the suggestion, "and secondly it absolutely should not match your tie. It should complement your tie, but not match it."

"Oh." Martin attempted to care about this. He failed. "That sounds a bit arbitrary, doesn't it?" 

Jon shrugged as best he could from his position on the bed.

"I don't make the rules! I simply follow them!" He protested, continuing to scroll.

"Should we complement eachother as well?" Martin asked, starting to smile. "You wear purple, I wear... what goes with purple?"

"Yellow is the complimentary color." Jon answered.

"Fuck that, then, I'm not wearing yellow." 

"Nobody's asking you to wear a lemon colored tuxedo... just as a pocket square! A little pop of color!" Jon said.

"What?!" Martin asked with a laugh. "Who are you!?" 

"I just... if we're going to dress up we may as well do it right." 

"Fine." Martin lay down next to Jon, careful to keep his feet off the edge of the bed, while he took a look at the options. He pointed out a few contenders, which Jon saved to his shopping cart for future reference. "I'm still not wearing yellow." Martin grumbled, and Jon nodded absent-mindedly, already glancing at the next option.

The night of the gala Martin's hair simply refused to comb into a reasonable shape. If he wet it down enough so that it didnt fluff up he looked like a schoolboy, and if he allowed it to go where it wanted to he looked absurd. Eventually he gave in and let his hair sit in the lopsided form it seemed determined to maintain. When he left the bathroom he found Jon sitting at the kitchen table next to a pre-folded pocket square in a complementary mint color. Jon himself was muttering curses under his breath as he tried to follow a youtube tutorial demonstrating how to fold his own deep purple pocket square into an elaborate fan shape. Martin was going to say something teasing about it when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Fuck off!" He growled at Peter Lukas's name on his caller ID, but he picked up before Jon could tell him to ignore it.

"Yes Peter?" He asked, avoiding Jon's scolding gaze. 

"Martin, I was hoping I could ask if you could do me a favor." Peter asked in his weird, side-stepping, mealy-mouthed way.

Martin loosened his tie without thinking about it, further mussing up his formal appearance. _Not that it matters anyway, its not like anybody's going to be looking at me_ he thought.

"Martin, the taxi's coming in ten minutes!" Jon whispered, waving at Martin to get his attention and pointing to his watch.

Martin felt a twist of anxiety at being unable to meet the needs of both his partner and his employer at the same time. He stepped out of the kitchen.

"What do you need?" He asked, voice a touch more shrill than he would have liked.

"I rather forgetfully left the new business cards... the most recent ones, the eggshell white cards with the new logo? In the office. I'd very much prefer to hand out business cards with the correct company logo, I'm sure you understand."

"You want me to stop at the office and get them for you?" Martin glanced at the time. There was no way to make it to his office before the gala without arriving 45 minutes late. 

"That would be splendid Martin. I would do it myself of course, but you live so much closer to the office than I do..."

He didn't attempt to finish the sentence. Peter KNEW Martin was coming to the gala with his partner, Martin had TOLD him, but of course Martin was the administrative assistant and this was precisely the sort of thing he was supposed to do. Martin turned around to find Jon standing in the doorway, tense, arms crossed, pocket square peaking out of his shirtpocket in a slightly less elaborate design than what he had originally attempted. 

"It's all right. I'll pick them up." Martin said to Peter. 

"Excellent." Peter responded. "You really have made yourself invaluable to me, Martin." 

"I'll see you there in about an hour then." Martin said.

"Of course. Thank you." Peter said. He almost sounded sincere, but he couldn't lose that last bit of smugness.

And with that Martin hung up, meeting Jon's slightly frustrated gaze. 

"You can take the taxi." Martin said. "I'll meet you at the gala." 

"He can't keep doing this to you..." Jon growled.

"Please don't tell me what a pushover I am, I'm WELL AWARE." Martin snapped, fumbling to put the cell phone away in his pocket.

"That's not what I... you always take everything so personally, it's hard to..."

"This is the job." Martin said, exasperated. "I'm an administrative assistant, which means I pretty much have to do what Peter tells me, it's not like I can tell him to stuff it and pick up his own business cards." 

"You could." Jon said.

Martin fumed.

"Right. Because it's just that easy. I don't think you'd have responded so charitably to that behavior back when you were my boss, Jon, in case you've forgotten."

Martin realized he'd gone too far when he saw Jon's irritated expression shift to one of profound hurt. 

"I... would I have? I hope I never treated you like..." Jon fumbled for words. 

A deep instinct in Martin told him to apologize, to do something to make that hurt look go away, but he was already going to be late and his suit jacket was making him hot and uncomfortable and he just wanted to be LEFT ALONE for a minute.

"I'll meet you there, Jon." He said, brushing past him and, grabbing his keys from the table and heading outside. The evening wind was brisk and sharp but he'd been too upset to grab his coat, so he put his hands in his pockets and tried to avoid shivering as he made his way to the tube stop.

~*~

Jon slid into the backseat of the taxi when it arrived with the irritated energy of a cat that had just fallen off of a table. The idea of walking into the gala on his own felt daunting, but the cab was here and Martin would eventually be there so he saw no way around it. He drummed his fingers on the windowsill and glanced at his phone the whole drive.

Usually Elias held the gala at the institute; hiring a team of event planners to transform the marble neoclassical foyer into an event space. This year he had spent a bit more of the institute's event money by renting an old manor house, bullt in 1790, that had now been converted into a wedding venue complete with a dance floor, film viewing room, and massive conference space. Jon's taxi dropped him off at the symmetrical, red brick building lit up with garish green exterior lights of dubious taste. Jon adjusted his suit and glasses and stepped into the building.

He entered an elegant room with adorned, cream colored walls and a bright red carpet. A picturesque stairway with elaborate curved banisters served as a focal point of the room, and crowds of well dressed posh people huddled in bunches around small tables. Despite having just come in from the cold Jon immediately felt too hot, and he glanced around for a familiar face. 

Of course he ran into Elias first.

"Jon! Lovely to see you, where's Martin?" Elias asked, tone deep and almost too calm. He wore a tuxedo tailored to his exact specifications and sported a perfectly folded fan shaped pocket square. Jon eyed it with envy.

"He's on his way. He had work." Jon said. _Your bastard ex-husband sent him on an errand._ was what Jon WANTED to say but he restrained himself. 

"Well I'll be certain to say hello to him later." Elias said, eyes flitting about. "You didn't see anyone walking around outside with musical instruments, did you? Our entertainment has yet to arrive." 

"Sorry, I haven't seen anyone." Jon asked, glancing through the crowd at the unhealthily tanned, heavily made up faces of the Magnus Institute's donor class. 

"It's fine. Everything's fine." Elias said in a tone of voice that made it quite obvious that very little actually was. "Do tell me when Martin arrives..." Elias began to say, but at that moment his face fell at something taking place over Jon's shoulder. For a millisecond, Elias's smug mask fell away and he looked like nothing other than the furious, bitter, middle-aged man that Jon always suspected him to be. Jon looked over his shoulder to find out what was going on.

Stepping through the doorway like some kind of pop group arriving late to the BRIT awards were Tim, Sasha, Melanie, and Georgie. Georgie and Melanie were dressed as though they were attending some kind of slightly high-end punk rock concert. Georgie wore a multi colored maxi skirt which flowed to the ground along with a crop top blouse that revealed her ample, lovely belly, accented by black lipstick and a truly impressive number of studs in her ears. Melanie wore a low cut black velvet jumpsuit which hugged her curves and highlighted her collarbones, a chunky necklace, and no makeup, her blue dyed hair pulled up into a messy updo. 

Tim and Sasha, arriving right behind them, had more closely followed the intended semi-formal dress code. They simply swapped the anticipated gender presentation. Sasha wore a very nice charcoal gray suit and waistcoat with her hair gelled back, while Tim, standing a full head taller than her, wore a swishy and clinging dark blue ballgown with some truly impressive strappy heels.

"Hullo boss man!" Tim boomed, drawing the attention of several stodgy looking octogenarian guests. "The boys are back!" 

Elias made a few incomprehensible furious noises at that, glaring at Tim with such laser focused rage that Jon was surprised Tim didn't burst into flame on the spot. Without responding, Elias turned on his heel and disappeared through a side door.

The archival team in all their glory made their way over to Jon, watching Elias's quick disappearance with interest. Tim paused and shifted his skirts with a touch of unnecessary flourish.

"Well, that's him gone then. Hello Jon! You clean up nicely!" Tim said, standing with his arms folded and his hip jutted out just as he usually would. A finishing school teacher would have scolded him for his posture in that gown.

"Thank you Tim!" Jon said, turning his full attention to his employees and their dates. "As do you!" 

"Where's Martin?" Sasha asked. "I've been texting him!"

"He's doing a favor for Peter. He'll be here in a little while." Jon said, turning his face to avoid eye contact with Melanie. "Anyone need a drink?" He asked.

"None for me, thanks." Melanie said, seemingly as determined to meet Jon's eye as he was to avoid hers. 

"I'd love one Jon." Georgie said. 

"You want your usual G&T Sasha?" Tim asked. 

"Sounds good." Sasha said, and Tim and Jon maneuvred their way through the crowd over into the side room with the open bar. 

"Sasha, does Tim often wear dresses?" Georgie asked, once he was out of range.

"Sometimes." Sasha answered, smiling at Tim's retreating figure. "Usually it's just a bit of makeup. He asked if we could genderbend tonight because he didn't want to let down the archival team by showing up like a boring a heterosexual couple." 

"That's sweet." Georgie said, smoothing out her skirt. 

At that moment Elias re-appeared out of the shadows.

"Excuse me ladies, can you tell me where Jon ran off to?" 

"Nice to see you too, Elias." Sasha teased.

"Ah, Sasha!" Elias sneered as though he'd just realized her existence. "How is the new job treating you? You must be a regular naval genius by now." 

"I've been hearing that you might have some naval expertise yourself, Elias." Sasha said, just as Jon and Tim rejoined the group with drinks. She took her gin and tonic from Tim with a flourish like some kind of animated villain. 

"I've no idea what you mean." Elias said, but his demeanor flickered for a fraction of an instant. 

"Oh look!" Jon said, glancing at the entrance. "It's Oliver!" 

Oliver stepped up to the group, looking, it must be said, dapper as fuck. He wore a well tailored gray suit with tight fitting trousers, no tie, and a black dress shirt. He looked as though he'd just stepped away from a GQ photoshoot, or an advertisement for a luxury car. Sasha and Tim simultaneously choked on their drinks. 

"Well, I suppose now that everyone's here, I can let you know why you all were invited to the gala." Elias said, running a hand along hs hair to smooth it but only making it a bit more disheveled. 

"Because we're you're favorite department?" Tim asked. 

Elias ignored him and carried on.

"The oral history project you all worked on was funded, for the most part, by one donor. He's deciding whether or not to keep up the donation and requested your presence tonight. I don't need for you to do a little dance for him or anything." Elias said, his voice becoming more pained with every word. "But if you can, please do humor him somewhat. Answer his questions. It would be for the best." 

"Why didn't you tell us sooner, Elias?" Jon snapped. "We might've prepared something!"

"Oh as though you would've come if you'd known." Elias muttered. 

Sasha looked thoughtful for a moment as she took a long sip from her gin and tonic.

"Oh my god. Did Peter Lukas fund this project?" She asked.

"PETER!?" Elias asked, stunned.

"Yes darling?" A broad man, tall enough that he ought to have been noticeable and yet somehow quite forgettable appeared directly behind the director of the Institute. Everyone froze. "You called?" He asked.

Elias gave a petulant little frown.

"Peter, these are my archivists. Archivists, Peter."

Peter ran his eyes up and down the assembled team, lingering somewhat on Tim and his gown. Tim tilted his head and smiled, challenging the older man to say something. 

"Looks like you've assembled an... _interesting_ group." Peter muttered. Jon stared absolute daggers at him. 

"Peter didn't fund the project, he doesn't command that much capital." Elias said, a very clear burn which the taller man ignored. "You all need to keep a lookout for a man named Simon Fairchild. He has some questions for you." 

"Is he going to start throwing cash on the floor and make us all fight for it?" Jon asked, voice full of venom.

"Simon?" Peter and Elias gave eachother a look. "Very possibly." Elias admitted. 

"Great." Melanie muttered, finishing her drink with a grimace. "Fun party, Elias." 

"I do my best." Elias oozed.

~*~

Peter's new business cards weren't even close to where he'd said they'd be. It took Martin an extra 15 minutes just to find them (behind the potted plant on the windowsill, fucking inexplicably) before he could make his way back down to the street. He considered taking the tube all the way to the gala but that would put him a full hour late, so he gave in and called an uber.

His uber driver, a white man in his forties, was quite chatty. Under normal circumstances this was fine, Martin genuinely enjoyed meeting new people and despite considering himself to be a rather awkward person he usually got along with people. He'd worked enough service jobs to rid himself of any false sense of superiority. This driver, however, made it clear within the first five minutes that he was not the sort of person Martin would feel comfortable letting know he had a boyfriend, which made the next 30 minutes almost unbearable. 

Martin kept replaying the way he had left the apartment over in his head, and running through scenarios of how Jon might respond to him when they met. None of the scenes offered up by his subconscious felt promising, and his anxiety about that only made the next imaginary option worse. He tipped the homophobic uber driver generously and approached the entrance, feeling queasy and shivering both from the cold and from his own anxieties. 

The venue, being a historic house not intentionally built for workplace events, was split up into a number of smaller rooms. Martin weaved through three of them without recogniing anyone. Going from the cold of the outdoors to the heat of a crowded space, everyone around him several drinks ahead of him, turned his face pink and his extremities numb. He clung to the business cards, prioritizing finding Peter Lukas in the swarms of wealthy faces. 

As he twisted and turned to look, Martin collided with a tall, gaunt man with white hair, and in his scramble to right himself Martin stepped rather heavily on his foot. The man turned to him and his eyes were strange, as though not focused on Martin but still staring him through. 

"I'm so sorry!" Martin said. 

The man didn't actually respond, he simply let out a long, wheezing exhale. 

"Oh don't be so dramatic Rayner." A much smaller and pinker old man dressed in a suit so obviously expensive that it almost made you forget how ridiculous he looked pushed his way in front of the other. "You're a bit young to attend one of these things! You must be one of Elias's little team, yes? The archivists?" 

"I... sort of." Martin really didn't feel like explaining his recent career history to an absolute stranger, but both older men were paying him such close attention he couldn't find a way to squirm out of it.

"Hey! You there! Waiter! Give this young man a drink!" The small pink man shouted at a passing waiter with an entitlement that made Martin squirm. He tried to meet the server's eyes in apology but the damage was done, by even associating with these two Martin was a persona non grata with the catering staff. Martin snatched a martini off the offered tray as quick as he could to at least allow the server to escape. "I'm delighted to meet you." The small man continued. "My name is Simon Fairchild." 

Martin recognized the name right away, both from the list of funder's of the Magnus Institute and as one of Peter's most influential colleagues. Martin watched his chances of being able to slip easily away from the conversation evaporate. He couldn't risk insulting a man with that much financial sway.

"Martin Blackwood." He introduced himself, unable to keep a note of misery from his voice. "I'm Peter Lukas's executive assistant." 

"Are you!?" Simon looked taken aback. "Pete has had a devil of a time trying to find someone to take that job, you know. He used to cry to me about it over the phone!" 

Martin wasn't sure how to respond to that so he just laughed awkwardly and took a sip of his martini. Where was Jon? Where was Peter? 

"Well well, we must've emailed one another dozens of times, then, Martin! Pleasure to meet you in the flesh!" 

"Sure!" Martin said, his heart very much not in it.

"I can see why Peter likes you." Simon Fairchild eyed Martin's pocket square. "You seem like a frightfully competent sort of chap. Did you say you worked for Elias as well?"

"Used to." Martin admitted. "Jon and I..."

"Oh the ARCHIVIST! You worked with the man of the hour! The belle of the ball! I've been trying to get my grubby little hands on him all night. I've a whole LIST of questions for him." 

One of Fairchild's grubby little hands, Martin couldn't help but notice, seemed to be hovering in the area of Martin's lower back, as though Fairchild was leading him or guiding him away from the rest of the crowd.

"I'm looking for him myself, actually." Martin said, glancing over at the man Fairchild had referred to as Rayner to see if he could be of any assistance. Rayner just continued to stare at Martin without focusing on him in an unsettling way.

"Are you?" Simon asked, "Splendid. Let's have a little adventure, then, shall we? Hold on a tick, PETER!" Fairchild's voice, inconceivably posh, rang out with surprising volume over the crowd. "Peter DO come over here I've found your young man!" 

"I'm not his young man..." Martin mumbled, but nobody was paying him any attention at that point. 

Peter emerged from the crowd looking just as strange and forgettable as usual but this time in a tuxedo. 

"Martin!" he said, in more a professional than friendly tone. "I suppose you weren't able to find the cards?" 

"I... what? No." Martin pulled out the pile of business cards and handed them to Peter. "Here." 

Peter stared at the cards with a small frown. For a moment Martin imagined Peter was going to tell him he'd brought the wrong cards, or that he'd actually asked for him to bring him a magical ring or something equally infuriating, but Peter simply put the cards in his pocket with a little hum and then glanced at the drink Martin's hand.

"I'm glad to see you had time to pick up a martini before giving them to me." Peter muttered. "I wouldn't have wanted to inconvenience your evening." 

Martin felt a little swell of fury rise in his throat.

"Oooh Peter, don't be too harsh on the lad, he was just entertaining me." Fairchild answered in a bit of sing-song voice. "You didn't tell me Martin used to be one of Elias's!" 

"Elias's... what?" Martin asked, tired of being spoken about like he wasn't there.

"He came very highly recommended." Peter said. 

"Ah, I thought you might have lost another bet!" Fairchild said, and all three of the older men began to chortle amicably, the way rich men with a lot of money and an unfair amount of power all chortle at one another. 

Martin burned with irritation but didn't know what to say. This was his boss and, from everything he knew, an exceptionally wealthy and powerful man. It would be fiscally irresponsible of him to tell them all to go fuck themselves. As he stumbled for words, Martin finally caught a glimpse of Jon through a double doorway into a room across the hallway. 

Jon looked lovely, of course, smiling one of his true, honest smiles... at perhaps the most beautiful man Martin had ever seen. Jon had described Oliver to him before, of course, but he'd failed to mention the man's flawless clear skin, fashionably cut hair, broad shoulders and athletic build. 

Jon was laughing at something Oliver had said. Martin had known Jon years before he'd ever seen him laugh like that, a surprising deep rasp of a laugh that always seemed to take him by surprise. Martin cherished each laugh he coaxed out of Jon like a private, hard won victory. Oliver was laughing as well, reaching out and touching Jon's arm to steady himself.

It was like watching a confirmation of every worst fear that had bubbled up in his brain over the past three months. Jon and Oliver looked good together. Oliver looked... unimaginably good. 

"Martin?" Peter asked, "Are you all right?" 

"No." Martin answered, simply. "No, I'm not."


	7. A Bit of Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I just wanted to say thank you for reading and commenting and being lovely. I cannot believe I have dedicated this many words and hours of my life to my weird little version of the tma universe but hey, here we are! Thank you! <3

"Excuse me." Martin said, actually pushing Simon Fairchild physically out of his way so that he could walk over to Jon unimpeded.

Wealthy octogenarians dodged out of Martin's way as he plowed across the hall towards his boyfriend.

Jon broke his eye contact with Oliver when Martin was less than six feet away, face falling at Martin's expression.

"Martin?" Jon asked.

"Nice to see you've found a way to enjoy yourself without me here." Martin said. It was a petty thing to say—passive aggressive—something Peter would have said. 

"Martin!" Jon repeated, sounding taken aback. 

"Hello! We haven't met yet..." Oliver began to introduce himself.

"Yeah I know who you are, thanks." Martin snarled. 

Jon flinched, glancing between Martin and Oliver in confusion. 

"There's no need for that..." he said, voice taking on a note of warning.

"You can take your hands off of my boyfriend." Martin said, crossing his arms and posturing like a tough as nails schoolgirl about to throw hands in the parking lot after a school dance. 

"O-kayyyy" Oliver held up both hands with a sort of bemused expression and began backing away. He gave Jon a little look which said, very clearly "I'm out!" and exited the room.

Several other people nearby paused their conversations and craned their necks to get a closer look at what was going on. Jon stiffened, posture rigid, trying to maintain his calm. 

"What on _earth_ was that for?" Jon hissed.

Martin trembled. Jon's words stung more than he would like to admit, breaking whatever spell Oliver had him under. Martin turned his attention fully to Jon, eyes prickling with the onset of tears. 

Before either of them could say anything else, though, they were interrupted.

"Hello Martin! I'm SO glad to see you." Melanie King said, appearing out of nowhere. Jon and Martin basically wrenched their attention away from the other to see who was addressing them. Georgie, who Melanie had dragged with her at speed from all the way across the room, looked only slightly less bewildered. "We were all asking about you, Jon told us how Peter fucked you over." 

"I..." Martin said, he could still feel the tears prickling at the corners of his eyelids. "He..."

"Peter who?" Peter Lukas asked, appearing to Martin's left with an infuriating grin. He must have followed Martin into the room, joined by his bizarre elderly millionaire entourage. 

"Everyone, this is Peter. My boss." Martin said, tone completely dead. "Peter this is my partner, Jon,"

"Partner!" whispered Simon Fairchild, in the most infuriating tone imaginable.

"This is Jon's ex-girlfriend Georgie and her girlfriend Melanie, the woman who took my old job." Martin said, with far less courtesy than he would usually muster. 

"Are they here to rob us?" Simon Fairchild asked, taking in Melanie and Georgie's outfits. 

"You never answered my question, who is this 'Peter,' who, as this young woman put it so nicely, fucked you over?" Peter asked, voice as innocuous as his eyes were threatening.

"If you don't mind." Jon addressed Martin's boss directly for the first time. "Martin and I were just about to go outside for a cigarette." 

Peter raised an eyebrow. 

"Do you smoke, Martin?" He made a disappointed little "hm." noise. 

"I-" Martin was about to answer that no, he didn't, and neither did Jon anymore, when Melanie cut in. 

"Did Elias smoke, back when you were married?" She asked, voice bored and drawling. It made Peter blink.

"P-pardon?"

"It's just that he always struck me as the smoking type. Or at least someone who used to." Melanie continued. She gave Jon's ankle little kick even as she made perfect eye contact with Peter. "And not just tobacco, _if you know what I mean_..."

Martin felt Jon take his hand and guide him towards the exit of the room, leaving a flustered Peter trying to figure out how to talk about Elias with a pair of female punks. 

~*~

Jon led Martin in and out of several crowded spaces before they finally found an empty, stupidly elegant conference room fitted with one of those triangle shaped conference phones and a very out of date looking projection screen for business meetings. No one was hooking up or tipsily chatting in the space so Jon shut the doors behind them and turned to face Martin.

"What on earth were you doing up there!? With Oliver?" Jon asked, keeping his voice low but unable to keep the prickliness out of it.

"I don't... I don't want to talk about it here." Martin said, voice wavering.

"Neither do I but needs fucking must." Jon hissed. "That was completely uncalled for." 

"What was?" Martin asked, blinking a few times.

"The way you spoke to him! What was that!? I've..." Jon shook his head. "I'm actually rather embarrassed!" 

"I..." tears began to stream down Martin's cheeks. "I know I'm embarrassing." 

"Christ, Martin! No! Stop!" Jon walked up and began to wipe away Martin's tears with his hands. "You can't cry yet! I'm still cross with you!" 

"Look." Martin sat down shakily in one of the awful plastic conference chairs around the large white table in the center of the room. "I know I'm a silly pushover and I'm not actually smart and I look frumpy and awful tonight..."

"No! Stop!" Jon flailed his arms helplessly, keeping his voice an intense whisper. "That's all nonsense! I'm angry because you were rude to Oliver! Stop deflecting with self-hatred!" 

That actually startled Martin. He glanced up at Jon, tears still streaming down his cheeks. 

"You didn't tell me he made you a mix cd." Martin said. "You failed to mention he's a fucking... gorgeous, perfect, model... man." 

"He's WHAT!?" Jon asked, this time failing to keep his voice down. He had no idea if Oliver was attractive or not. He was just good at organizing things and liked synth music.

"And I KNOW I've been busy and you've been spending so much time with him and when I saw him all over you like that..."

"All OVER me!?"

"Look it doesn't help when you just repeat exactly what I'm saying to you in an incredulous voice. I saw him. He was flirting with you." Martin said. "And I just... I sort of snapped. I'm sorry." 

Jon closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, a picture of exasperation. Martin took out his mint pocket square and used it to dab at his tears. 

"I cannot believe Melanie was right about this." Jon grumbled.

"Melanie?" Martin asked. 

"There's absolutely nothing going on between me and Oliver." Jon said. "I admit—I like him."

As Martin's face dropped in utter horror Jon hurried to explain himself. "Not in a romantic way at all! He's just... he's a good employee and he likes the same ridiculous music that I like! But Martin, compared to you he's... when I look at you I..." Jon blushed. "There's no comparison. I'd do anything for you." 

Martin actually let out a little gasp at that, which just led to another flood of tears.

"But I'm not worth it!" Martin said. "I'm not... just look at me!" 

"Now this..." Jon's expression clouded over. "This I could do without." 

"W-what?" 

"That came out wrong. This whole new... 'I'm the worst' thing, I don't like it. It's not you." Jon said. 

"It is, a bit." Martin answered.

"Well it shouldn't be. You're lovely." 

Martin laughed. 

"I don't feel very lovely, though." 

"Well I'm sorry but I'm afraid that's _your_ problem." Jon muttered.

Martin laughed again at that. 

"Christ, you really are an utterly shite therapist aren't you?" Martin asked. 

"Look if you started going out with me for therapeutical reasons we are both massively fucked." Jon answered.

Martin's tears finally began to slow to a manageable amount, which was good because he could have wrung quite a bit of water out of his pocket square at that point.

Martin's phone buzzed, and Jon's expression darkened.

Martin picked it up. It was a text.

"It's, erm, it's Peter. He's asking whether I'm done poisoning my lungs yet." Martin explained.

"That's it." Jon stood up, adjusting his jacket with a serious expression.

"W-what are you doing?" Martin asked.

Jon didn't answer, he swept out of the door with a concentrated speed that made Martin nervous.

"Jon? JON!" Martin squeaked out after him. Jon didn't turn around, he just jogged up the grand staircase with a singular focus, leaving Martin to hurry behind him.

~*~

From Elias's perspective the evening had been a bit of a shit show. The musicians never turned up, forcing him to play a Spotify playlist over the venue's speakers (a nightmare,) the guests had all self quarantined to one side of the venue leading to massive lines at two of the bar stations while the other side of the venue was scarcely touched, and he kept running into an infuriatingly well put together and handsome Peter whenever he turned a corner. 

When he finally found he room where Simon, Maxwell, and Peter had sequestered themselves he was horrified to find that they'd been conversing almost exclusively with Melanie and Georgie. Georgie was harping on about some sort of community mutual aid group she organized and Melanie was painting the oral history project in a rather poor light. Both of them looked like they'd popped by the gala on their way home from some sort of rage-out mosh pit. Elias was about to pry Simon away before they lost their last ounce of funding when a powerful shove nearly knocked him down. 

"Fuck... Jon?" He managed to mutter, as the slim brown man pushed past him and tapped insistently on Peter's shoulder. 

Peter turned around with a quiet, curious look, just starting to ask a question. He never got the chance.

Elias watched in what felt like slow motion as Jon, his hand-picked Head Archivist, his former favorite employee, punched his ex-husband square in the jaw. 

"JON!" Martin cried out from the doorway. Elias stood in shock, mouth opening and closing like a broken automaton at a carnival as chaos broke out in front of him. 

Georgie tackled Jon to the floor before anyone had time to recover. Peter had staggered backwards into Maxwell, who fell over like he was made of dry straw, while Simon let out a sort of delighted little shriek of laughter and lifted his drink up so as not to spill any.

"Leave Martin alone! You prick!" Jon shouted as Georgie dragged him out of the room. Martin followed, eyes wild with worry, running his hands through his hair. 

Everyone in the room was either rushing to leave it or gawping at the aftermath. Elias, finally having righted himself, stood frozen, utterly at a loss.

"Looks like someone had one too many eh?" Melanie King announced in a theatrically loud voice and a congenial laugh. "You're all right, aren't you?" she patted Peter on the shoulder in a comradely way. "Skinny little bugger like that, no harm done, right?" She glanced over at Elias, "Right?" 

"Absolutely." Elias heard himself saying, still stunned. He pasted on a smile and tried to get everyone around him to smile with him. "What's a gala without a bit of violence?" 

"A boring one!" Melanie answered. Simon let out a little peal of delighted laughter and Melanie grinned at him.

Peter dragged himself to his feet, pulling a stunned and still silent Maxwell Raynor up with him. Peter met Elias's eyes. Years of understanding flashed between them in an instant.

"Bartender!" Peter called, putting on a show of it. "Get me some ice and another whiskey!" Everyone in the room began to cheer, and Elias felt a flood of relief as people began to mill around again, the muffled roar of conversation picking up as though nothing at all unusual had taken place.

Melanie went over to where Elias was still gripping the edge of the bar. When he met her eye she gave him a wink. He wanted to wring her neck, but he couldn't, not after she'd just saved the day.

Tim and Sasha came in to the room at that point. Sasha's lipstick was smudged down her chin and Tim's dress had dropped off of one shoulder somewhat. 

"Oy Elias, what'd we miss?" Tim asked, watching the bartender hand Peter a makeshift cold compress made out of ice cubes and paper towels.

"Later." Elias muttered, and his tone had never been more evil. 

~*~  
Jon, Georgie, and Martin, still in their formalwear, sat on a curb in front of a small hole-in-the-wall Hungarian take-away restaurant. Georgie shoveled spoonfuls of chicken paprikash into her mouth out of a styrofoam container, expression grim.

"Look..." Jon began.

"NOPE." Georgie said. "Nothing from you, yet." 

Jon clammed up. Martin took a large, miserable bite of his lángos. 

Georgie's phone buzzed and she scrambled to look at it. 

"It's Melanie," She said with a relieved sigh. "She's ok." 

"Well of course she's ok, it's not as though people were breaking chairs over each other's backs." Jon said, tone petulant.

"STUFF IT, JON." Georgie hissed, typing her response on her phone. "You're 30 fucking years old you can't just punch people you don't like." 

"I..." Jon shut up again. 

"Has he done this before?" Martin asked, leaning over Jon to speak to Georgie directly.

"Once at Uni. I honestly wasn't expecting it to happen at a fucking old person fundraiser." Georgie narrowed her eyes. "You're SUCH a wanker, Jon." 

Jon remained silent, knees pulled up close against him, staring at the pavement. Martin hesitantly offered him a bite of his food, a large hunk of deep fried bread topped with sour cream, cheese, and small bits of bacon. Jon refused it with a gentle shake of his head but his eyes met Martin's with gratitude. 

"Melanie's on her way. Can you two make it home without bludgeoning any more old men?" Georgie asked, trying to pack up the rest of her food and put it back in her bag.

"...Probably?" Jon answered.

"Christ, Jon." Georgie shook her head as she stood up. She glanced over to Martin. "You all right?" she asked, much more gently than she'd spoken to Jon. 

"I'm fine." Martin said. "You should go to Melanie." 

"She said she's cleaned up a lot of your mess." Georgie snapped, addressing Jon again. "You've really got to stop relying on other people for that." 

"I'm sorry you had to get involved." Jon answered. 

"Fuck off, Jon." Georgie rolled her eyes and walked over to the corner, where a car appeared to be waiting for her. 

Martin and Jon sat quietly together, blending into the bustle of the night somewhat. 

"Can we call a cab?" Martin asked, shivering without his overcoat.

"Of-of course! Yes, sorry, of course." Jon pulled out his phone and called for one. As they waited for it to turn up Martin scooted until his side was pressed against Jon, who tentatively leaned into him. They didn't speak. They held hands in the cab though.

The second they stepped inside the apartment Martin pulled Jon to him and kissed him with a sort of crazed intensity. Jon kissed back for just a moment before coming to his senses.

"W-what? Stop!" Jon gently pushed Martin away and fumbled to turn the lights on. 

"I'm sorry!" Martin said, stepping back immediately and covering his mouth. "I just... sorry yeah, bad timing."

"It's alright! I just... what's happening?" 

"I'm sorry I got jealous of Oliver." Martin said as though he'd been practicing what he'd say in his head. "It was stupid. I get in these... funks sometimes and I didn't realize how bad it had gotten." 

"I... I appreciate your apology, but... do you see how it could be insulting, to me? though? Because I'd never, I'd hoped I'd made it clear that I would NEVER..."

"No you did, it's just my stupid... my brain." Martin admitted with a sigh. "I just start to feel bad and then no matter what I see it all turns into... more badness." 

"Have you considered..." Jon looked very nervous. "You aren't stupid. And as much as I'd like to believe that I have so much love for you it could somehow make up for the way you feel about yourself sometimes..."

"Oh Jon..."

"I don't think I'm equipped..."

"You certainly aren't. I love you, but, yeah, no." 

"I think you should see a therapist." Jon said. "And I say that as someone who loves you more than enough for two or even three people. I don't think I can fix this."

"Is that why you hit Peter?" Martin asked, a small smile creeping across his face. "Because you love me?" 

"Fuck Peter." Jon muttered. "He's just awful to you." 

"You probably lost your job for doing that." 

"Worth it." Jon said, taking a few steps closer to Martin.

"You know... you used to be a little bit awful to me..." Martin whispered, blushing a bit.

"If I could go back in time and punch the old me I would." Jon said without hesitation. 

"Christ, Jon..." Martin leaned in again and this time Jon kissed him back right away, reaching around to hold Martin's strong neck and stroking his hair. Martin pulled Jon close against him and squeezed him tight. "You know... one of the good things about me being me is that a reasonable person would be quite cross with you about this whole situation." Martin admitted.

"Everything about you is good." Jon said, kissing Martin's cheek. "You are the loveliest person."

"I should still see a therapist though, yeah?" Martin asked, stroking Jon's back.

"Probably yes. Not this minute though." Jon answered, holding Martin close. 

"Mmm. Good." Martin snuggled into Jon again.

~*~

Usually when Tim Stoker helped move a friend into a new flat he would show up at the scheduled time to find them sitting on the couch, nothing packed, eating ice cream straight from the container with an overwhelmed madness in their eyes. All right, so that was one time, but it had been a memorable one. Most of his other experiences helping people move hadn't been much better. 

In comparison, helping Martin pack his things and move them across the city was a breeze. Tim arrived to a flat full of packed and sealed up in boxes, clearly labeled by room. Martin had gotten rid of nearly all the bulky furniture well in advance, so apart from a desk and a few bookshelves they were ready to go. Also, usually when helping a friend move one had to suffer through meeting their other friends and family members. Not so in Martin's case, where Tim, Sasha, Jon, and Martin made up entirety of the crack moving team.

They had just about everything moved in and ready to go by early afternoon, easy peasy. Almost precisely after Tim dropped the last box in the middle of the living room and Martin announced that it was time for Pizza, Melanie and Georgie showed up.

"All right, lads! How can we help?" Melanie asked, cracking her knuckles and glancing around the flat. 

"Your timing is INCREDIBLE, Mel!" Tim said. 

"Oh!" Martin stepped out of the kitchen, carrying a case of beers and looking worried. "Georgie and Melanie! I wasn't sure you would... come."

It was the Sunday after the gala.

"Elias gave me the week off!" Melanie said, smiling. "And a raise!" 

"Fuck off!" Jon peeked out of the kitchen. 

"Yeah, he told me he was planning on firing you for wrecking the gala, but that weird little rich guy thought the whole thing was so funny he insisted you stay."

"Simon Fairchild?" Martin asked. 

"Yeah, that asshole. He funded the oral history project for another five years." Melanie answered. 

"FIVE YEARS!?" Jon repeated, mouth agape. 

"With the stipulation that you run it!" Melanie finished. 

"He didn't tell me any of this!" Tim protested.

"Yeah, well, you missed the whole shitshow. I fixed it." She smiled again, which somehow only sharpened her features. "The smug bastard owes me now." 

Martin and Jon glanced at one another.

"I'm here because Melanie said she was coming, to be honest." Georgie said with a sigh, glancing around the room. "Although it doesn't look like there's much left to do."

"There isn't." Jon said. "I am glad you're here though, so everyone's together."

"I'm going to go order the pizzas." Martin mumbled, leaving the living room so that Jon could address his employees.

"I just... I wanted to formally apologize for my actions at the gala." He said. 

Tim and Sasha locked eyes. If they had been at the office they would have been messaging one another furiously. 

"I let my emotions and relationship problems influence my judgement and I... I put all of our jobs in jeopardy."

"It is funny how we never had any trouble while you were shagging your employee, but now that Martin's fucked off to another job it all blew up in our faces." Tim pointed out. 

"I..." Jon floundered. "I can't really explain that either, I'm afraid. H-how is Oliver?" 

Tim and Melanie glanced at one another.

"Oliver is perfectly content to keep a job and a cordial relationship with you but I don't think he's going to be joining the Scooby gang any time soon." Tim said. 

"Please don't call us the Scooby gang." Melanie groaned. 

"Ooh I'm Velma!" Sasha said, raising her hand for some reason.

"No you're Daphne, cause I'm Fred!" Tim replied.

"You don't even work in the archives anymore, Sasha..." Jon protested.

"So Jon's SHAGGY!? This doesn't make any sense at all..." Melanie complained.

"I think we've strayed from the topic, yeah?" Georgie pointed out. 

"Right. Yes. Anyway." Jon's expression returned to its previous look of apologetic chagrin. "I take full responsibility for everything going to shit at the gala. I hope I can make it up to all of you."

There was a moment of contemplative silence in the living room.

"Maybe Jon's Scooby?" Sasha tentatively suggested.

"He's like, the ghost, or something." Georgie added, finally playing along. Jon could tell from her teasing smile that he was on his way to being forgiven. 

~*~

Martin lingered in the kitchen after ordering the pizzas, scrolling through his phone without really paying attention to it to give Jon time to speak with his coworkers. Four red notifications on his voicemail, all from Peter Lukas, vied for his attention. He pretended they did not exist. 

When his phone buzzed in his hand he nearly dropped it in surprise. 

It was Peter. Calling him right that second. Martin could hear Jon bickering in the other room with his coworkers, he couldn't go back in there yet, and as much as speaking with Peter sounded like the last possible thing he wanted to do right at that moment... he ripped off the band-aid.

"Hello Peter." Martin answered the phone.

"Martin! So you're alive!" Peter asked. "You know, I _hate_ leaving voicemails." 

Martin empathized. He hated listening to them. 

"Why are you calling?" Martin asked, voice firm.

"I thought you might be concerned about your job, considering the fact that your boyfriend assaulted me." 

"Honestly I'd sort of assumed that I no longer had a job." Martin answered. "I hope you weren't badly hurt." 

"Don't be foolish Martin, I'm not going to play up some kind of injury and sue you. Although I could very easilly press charges."

Martin swallowed. He'd been waiting for this bit. He didn't answer, just gave Peter the time to relish whatever he was about to say.

"I'm calling to let you know that you still have a position at Solus Shipping."

"W-what?" Martin asked.

"I don't want to punish you for your partner's mistakes." Peter said. 

Martin's stomach churned. He'd spent the past week under the assumption that he was unemployed. Financially, it was very stressful, but in every other possible way, it had been a huge relief. 

"You want to keep me as an administrative assistant?"

"We're a very forgiving company, Martin, as I'm sure you've noticed, there aren't many supervisors out there who would be so tolerant." 

For a moment, Martin felt a familiar flood of relief. Lukas had forgiven him for being him. Thank God, someone was willing to put up with his bullshit, and pay him money to be such a fuckup. 

But the moment passed. 

"Tolerant of what... exactly?" Martin asked, voice soft but unwavering.

"Oh don't try to accuse me of homophobia, Martin, you're WELL aware that Elias and myself..."

"No, what exactly about my job performance have you had to 'tolerate'?" Martin asked again. 

"Don't worry, it's not as though I'm going to write up a list..." Peter began.

"You wouldn't be able to. I've done a great job." Martin said. "I've never missed a deadline, I've gone above and beyond my job description, and you still act as though you're doing me a favor by not sacking me."

"Your boyfriend did punch me in the face, Martin, if you need a reminder..."

"And he shouldn't have done that but don't pretend I've been some kind of incompetent employee! You're lucky to have me! In your shitty little office!"

"Martin..."

"No, Peter, I no longer have a position at Solus Shipping because I QUIT." Martin's voice raised in pitch as he spoke, but he didn't even worry about it. It felt great.

Before Peter could say anything Martin hung up. His heart was pounding, and he had a sheen of sweat on his forehead, but he was _free_. 

He turned around to find Jon in the doorway, staring at him with an intent expression.

"Was that-?"

"Peter? Yes." Martin answered.

"So you just-?"

"Quit? Also yes." Martin said. "Fuck him." 

Jon looked like he wanted to jump and celebrate but he managed to restrain himself into a broad and almost smug grin. 

"Thank fucking Christ." Jon breathed. 

"Don't you start..." Martin muttered.

"Oy! Is there pizza yet!?" Tim called out from the living room.

Martin looked around at the new apartment that he'd just moved into, the boxes of his kitchen stuff still sealed and stacked on the floor.

"I-I'll be able to afford rent I think..."

"Of course you will, I don't care about that, come here." Jon pulled Martin into his arms and the two of them hugged for a solid ten seconds. "I've paid rent here on my own for ages. There's no rush. You can find a job that really suits you." 

"I love you." Martin mumbled into Jon's hair.

"I love you, too." Jon replied. 

They could make this work. Martin, if he was sure of nothing else, was sure of that.


End file.
